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epic-potato-crisp · 4 years ago

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Courtship [1/2] (AjinWeek2020/3)

Day 3: Favourite Ship/Romance/Lover

By: @ryokasmagic

Note: I have two OTPs in Ajin (Tosaki/Izumi and Kou/Kei) and I honestly can’t pick between them. Decided to go with KouKei for this one though. This has two parts, so far part 2 is supposed to be posted for Day 7. I hope you enjoy!

…..

“You’re amazing.”

And ever since that fateful day, the words haven’t left Kei’s mind.

At first, he thinks there is nothing redeemable about Nakano.

He is too loud and gets overly excited about everything, always barging into Kei’s private space. He seems earth shatteringly optimistic and ready to take on whatever obstacle the world is ready to present him with an energy that Kei can barely begin to comprehend.

In hindsight, this might have been what has fascinated him about Nakano so much to begin with.

They gradually begin spending more time together, but then, this is bound to happen, Kei thinks, when you’re stuck in one hideout with eight other people with little choice in the matter.

It has nothing to do with the fact that he actually enjoys Nakano’s company.

No, he certainly hasn’t stooped down to that level.

Of that he is certain.

…….

It starts innocently enough.

They’re sitting outside the hideout, taking a break after hours of training.

“What if we weren’t Ajin?” Nakano Kou asks.

“What?” Kei frowned, “That is the most stupid question I’ve heard in weeks.”

“No, think about it.” Kou gestures with his orange popsicle. “What if we were…you know, normal high schoolers.”

“We are normal.” Kei frowns. He is a perfectly respectable member of society, thank you very much. He may have an above average regenerational ability that might classify him as “immortal” in some instances, but he has no duty to disclose that to anyone.

He isn’t a dropout runaway that can barely memorize the kanji required to graduate.

“You know what I mean.” the other boy says, “Like…what if we weren’t on the run from the government?” His gestures got broader.

“That’s a rather pointless scenario. You might as well ask me what would have happened if I hadn’t gotten hit by that truck.” Kei rolls his eyes and moves his hazelnut-chocolate cone out of reach, away from potential Kou-induced hazards.

He catches Kou eyeing him from the side.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” the redhead replies indignantly, giving him a light nudge that has Kei scowling, “Isn’t it fun to think of what-ifs?”

“No, it isn’t.” Kei replies, and then relents under the expectant stare. He takes a bite of his ice.

“Well, fine. Let’s say I wouldn’t have gotten hit by the truck.” He pauses, considering the possibility and comparing it with his schedule at the time. “I would have had to turn in a physics project that week. Write a biology exam the week after. Not to mention our assignment in history about the reformation of- “

“Dude, I mean like, fun things.” Kou says, exasperatedly, “Like, you know. The next party you got invited to- “

Kei is excellent at politely turning these invitations down-

“Or like, an outing to a karaoke place or an arcade after school?”

After-school is reserved for math-club-meetings and further study-

“Or like, you know, getting a girlfriend!”

“I never had one.” Kei replied bluntly.

“What?!”

Kou’s shocked enough that he drops his popsicle. It rolls a few feet away from them, out of the shade and into the scorching afternoon sun. He stares wistfully at its departure.

“Oh man, I was going to finish that.”

“Get a new one.”

“Noo, they’re rationed. In any way I don’t feel like walking anymore than I need to today.” He pouts, slumping against the cooling wall.

Kei sighs, before wordlessly offering him his chocolate cone.

“Really, dude?”

“Call me dude ever again and you’ll have bigger problems than this.”

“Thanks, man.” Kou says, which isn’t much better and gives him a genuine smile that Kei wishes wouldn’t make him so happy on the inside.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So, coming back to the topic at hand- “

Kei suppresses a groan. He has been relying on the convenience of Kou’s short-term memory to prevent them from ever continuing the previous conversation.

“What about it?” he asks instead, reaching for the water bottle and taking a large sip.

“Like, really? Never?”

Kou looks a bit like a Golden Retriever whose owner has forgotten to take him on a walk.

“No.” Kei shrugs, “Is that so weird?” It’s a serious question.

He’s never considered that his social life could be boring, by others’ standards, being far too focused on becoming a diligent student that represented his family well.

“Ah, no, no, it’s cool.” Kou waves him off, words encouraging, “Not everyone has to have a girlfriend in High School.”

Kei doesn’t let him notice any of the relief he feels at those words.

“Some of us just aren’t dating our homework, ya know?” He breaks out into laughter.

“Die.”

“I can’t. I swear man, I’ve tried!” Kou throws up his hands in desperation, shaking his head and Kei turns away so that he can’t see the traitorous hint at a smile on his face.

“Would you ever want one, though?”

“What?” Kei arches an eyebrow.

“What do you think? “

A day full of peace and quiet, with no training or social interactions, preferably locked away in my room, Kei thinks, but he’s certain that’s not what Kou’s referring to.

“A girlfriend. Or, you know, a boyfriend.” Kou shrugs, and Kei feels the blood freeze in his veins.

His friend-by-default notices his incredulous expression.

“We’re in the 21st century, right? It’s not that weird.”

Kei doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

“You’re expected to marry someone of the opposite gender.” he says, remotely, “Unless you can avoid it.”

“In theory!” Kou has finished his ice cream and wipes his hands on the grass, “Like, maybe it’s not that you just haven’t found the right girl? Maybe you’re just- “

“Okay, enough.” Kei cuts across him. His heart thunders in his chest and thoughts of Kaito resurface in his mind, which is more than he can bear after hours of training exhausting him to the bone.

“Are you too much of a chicken to find out?” Kou’s grin is teasing, and competitive.

“Find out what?”

“If it’s perhaps not just girls you’re interested in?”

“When would I find that out?” Kei answers, ignoring the inexplicable jump his heart takes all of a sudden, “We’re fugitives in a battle. We barely have time for this.” He gestures vaguely and checks his watch, “Speaking of, we should get back to training.”

“Come on, ten more minutes.”

“You said that half an hour ago.” Kei deadpans, “No ten more minutes. This second.”

“Is that what you want me to say when you refuse to get up in the morning and want me to cover for you?” Kou teases.

Unfairly, he has a point.

“Whatever.” Kei sighs, chalking it up to the heat that he doesn’t feel like debating Kou on this particular topic.

“I propose a challenge. No, a bet. If you chicken out, I’ll assume you’re too much of a coward after all. Ready?” Kou asks, pointing at him, brimming with self-confidence.

“And what makes you assume I care?”

There’s the Golden Retriever look again. “Oh, come on, Kei.”

Kei sighs. He’s a good person, he tells himself, a respectable member of society. He’s doing Nakano a favor by not subjecting him to alienation from the only one in his peer group and the devastating consequences that might have for his social development.

“Okay, tell me what it is.”

“We pretend to be boyfriends for a week!”

Kei stares at him, dumbstruck, but before he can get a word in edgewise, Nakano cuts him to the chase: “No, wait. I’m serious. Nothing, strange, like, ya know.” He blushes scarlet, clearing his throat and Kei thanks the Gods above that he doesn’t elaborate on the subject.

“Like hand-holding and that stuff. Maybe a date night where we watch movies.”

“That sounds dumb.” Kei replies before he can stop himself.

“Dumb, but not impossible?”

“We don’t even have time for a…” Kei pauses, wrestling with the unfamiliar word and its embarrassing implications, “date night where we watch movies. We have to train. Fight Sato, in case you forgot?”

“Consider it a team-building exercise!” Kou grins widely.

“I could think of a way more interesting exercise where my IBM gets to practice attacks on you.”

Kou laughs.

“Yeah, we have to train.” he admits, “You’re right. But seriously. Do you really…not want to try it out? Or does it just sound unusual to you?”

Kei bites his lip. He can’t believe that Kou goaded him into this conversation.

“If we were, theoretically- “he cuts in sharply, as Kou’s eyes widen in excitement, “To try that out. We would need to have some rules.”

“Sure, definitely.” Kou nods along.

“And it would not cross a week.”

“Nope, that’s the idea.”

“And if I didn’t like it, we could end it at any time.”

“Yeah.” Kou replies without skipping a beat, “Consider it, like…a social project.” He stretches out his hand. “You’re on board?”

Kei has to admit he’s not completely adverse to the idea. He’d pay money to see the expressions on the others’ faces when he told them about their plan.

And also, for some strange, unspeakable reason, having a movie night with Kou doesn’t seem like the worst of ideas.

Kei clears his throat.

“It’s a deal.” he says.

#ajinweek2020 #ajin #keikou #koukei #nagai kei #nakano kou

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clonerightsagenda · 5 years ago

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While procrastinating on HTST I opened my old doc for Saving Face, which is a Jake-centric thing I was working on for Gill. I was never entirely happy with it, which is why it never went on ao3 despite me last working on it in, uh... 2018, apparently, but I might as well stick it somewhere.

As per usual it’s TLC compliant so some details may seem out of place.

In your dream, you're floating in the inky airspace miles above the Land of Tombs and Xenon, and you've got your hand buried wrist-deep in Dirk's rib cage.

“Hi,” he says.

You wake up. Across the room, you see him sit up too and rub his chest.

“I'm writing a strongly worded consumer complaint to whoever's running the dreambubbles,” you say.

“Yeah, if we ever run into that troll again, I'm giving her a piece of my mind. And, you know, that might become independently sentient and harass her for eternity, so I'm not fucking around.”

Roxy, who's squished up against the blanket-burritoed form of Calliope, rolls over and mumbles something that sounds like “I'm sleeping, fuckwads.” You chew your lip and try to wriggle into a more comfortable position. A lot of your household is on the floor, stealing blankets and using each other as pillows. You didn't want to spend nights alone, but you're not comfortable with the idea of anyone touching you while you're asleep. So you've claimed an old armchair, which meets in the middle fairly well, even if it means waking up with a crick in your neck every morning.

Usually you don't dream in the bubbles twice in one night, but you're not sure you're willing to risk it. They're not even supposed to be accessible anymore. That whole song and dance should have been left behind. But some nights you end up there anyway, like the times you'd tuned your grandma's old radio to the wrong station and voices speaking other languages emerged out of the static. There are no dreaming dead, but you wander through blurred dreamscapes and stumble into other people's memories. A week ago, you almost fell into a pool of lava and scrambled up the jagged side of a crater, clothes smoking. You'd prefer that to your own nightmares.

After a few more attempts to get comfortable, you give up and tiptoe through a minefield of slumbering bodies to the door. No one's in the living room, so you settle onto the sofa and jab the remote. The weather comes on, and you lower the volume until all you hear is a steady hum

“Do you mind if I hang out here?”

You look up. Even now that you're in a world with sunshine, Dirk's pale enough to be his own ghost. He should really get outside more. Then again, you all should. “It's Jane's house, technically. We're all here on guest rules.”

He sits down on the other end of the sofa, just the right distance that it's not too close or too far to be impolite. “I made it a week without getting maimed by my subconscious. New record.”

“Was that your nightmare or mine, do you think?”

“Does it matter?”

“I was just wondering, because I’d managed not to think about it for a few days. Oh well.” You shake your head. “I’m sorry. I’m surprised you can stand to be around me.”

He hasn’t been looking at you, but now he puts a hand on the cushions between you, like he’s regretting whatever message he sent with the distance. “It’s not your fault. You don’t make it onto the ��intentionally murdered people” shortlist, sorry. The committee had to reject your application on account of you being too fuckin straightlaced for that shit.”

“I guess that’s a fair point. If I were going to take out my aggravation on someone, I wouldn’t do it in a way that would break all the bones in my hand!” Your fingers ache from the memory. “But he did have my face.”

“Sure, but it’s obvious when it’s not you wearing it.” He seems frustrated. With you? With the argument? It is a bit late – early? – to be splitting hairs like this, but when it comes to shifting blame to yourselves, you’re all masters of rhetoric. “You should have seen the shit he was doing with it too. Dude thought he was an anime villain.”

“I sure remember the spectacle he brought with him to Prospit.” The whole planet had quaked under your feet; people on the other side felt it. “I’m still surprised we pulled a victory out of that shambles.”

“It helped that you believed in us. That was...” He shakes his head and looks at the figures moving silently on the television screen. “For a few minutes there, I felt like I could actually be the person you thought I was.”

Who among you hasn’t had that problem? You wished you could be a swashbuckling action hero, and look how that turned out. You really had believed Dirk was those things, for all that you’d found him a bit intimidating at the same time. Even when the other became most apparent, that didn’t mean the former didn’t have a place. They were both always him.

“We all had unfair expectations of each other,” you say. “No one was holding you to that standard, or at least we shouldn’t have.”

“It was nice,” he says after a moment. “Being believed in.”

“I still do.” The words slip out automatically. You have always leapt to reassure – to put a brave face not only on yourself but on everyone else to boot. You don’t do a good job a lot of the time. Too self-absorbed, you guess, too bad at reading social cues. This is something you’ve said before, with jollity and no substance. All a load of hot air. “Maybe not with Hope magic at the ready to give you a lightshow, since that’s a headache to manage, but I do believe in all of you.”

If he finds your words hollow, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he says, “Keep it up, and maybe we’ll get somewhere.” You don’t ask whether the “we” means you as a household, the four-five of you caught in your messy circle of friendship and fumbling romances, or the two of you alone. You promised to stop overanalyzing everything he says for hidden meanings. It’s the only way your interactions can be anything but impossibly awkward. On the television, the forecaster gestures silently to a stripe of bright color moving over the continental United States. “Is there anything distractingly shitty on TV? I don’t know about you, but I’m not closing my eyes again.”

You pick the remote back up and start flicking through channels. Medical dramas... not an option. Foreign soap operas? Pass. “House Hunters?”

He leans back into the sofa cushions. “Just fuck me up.”

“Rich couples arguing over bathroom fixtures it is.”

His voice emerges from the upholstery. “And we thought we had problems.”

“Their struggles put it all in perspective.”

Several episodes have come and gone by the time the rest of the household starts waking up. No one comments on your relocation to the sofa. It’s not uncommon for any of you to have bad dreams. Eventually the clinking of cutlery prompts you to stand up and get a plate of your own.

Bacon is sizzling on the stovetop. Meat doesn’t appeal to you much at the moment. It smells good, but looking at the raw red flesh makes your stomach twist. Instead, you stick two slices of bread in the toaster and push the lever down nearly as far as it’ll go. There’s no point to toast if it doesn’t crunch.

Jane brushes up against you when you’re leaning into the fridge. Your reaction is automatic. You jerk forward, smacking your head on the freezer door and sending orange juice sloshing everywhere.

Jane freezes, an empty plate in her hand. “I’m going to the sink,” she says carefully.

“Right.” Of course she is; no problems here! It’s not like she was sneaking up on you. She knows not to take you by surprise. “Didn’t notice. Silly me. A whole herd of centaurs could stampede past and I wouldn’t catch it.”

“I’m going to walk over to the counter now,” she says, the way you’d talk to a fairy bull you were trying to sidle up to. “Okay?”

You nod, and she does. Once she’s taken her seat, you move over to unspool some paper towels. Your legs are shaking. John puts his cup down with a clunk and grimaces at the noise. No one wants to look at you.

“So,” Hal says loudly. “Have we told our 2009 compatriots about the surprise surge in the popularity of vore?”

Roxy makes a noise suggesting she’s just aspirated her spoonful of Cheerios, and you are ever so grateful for lewd dining companions.

After breakfast, you catch up with Jane. “I apologize for that episode.”

She’s stacking up everyone’s clean plates with geometric precision. The operation must take a lot of concentration, because she doesn’t look your way. “You aren’t the one who should be apologizing.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t expect you to grovel at my feet for the rest of our immortal lives!” You force a laugh, rubbing your shoulders and wondering if the room has always felt so small. “I wish my nerves would get that memo.”

She pauses, elbows deep in the cupboard, and sighs. “Maybe it was a bad idea, us all living in the same house.”

“No!” You’re not going to be the one who rocks the boat, not this time. “I’m not rehashing that routine where we go to our separate lands and don’t speak until it all boils over in some eleventh hour crypt throwdown. I don’t think my vocal chords could handle the strain.”

She steps away from the cupboard with exaggerated care and turns to face you. It’s getting easier to look at her and not see the face you saw in the prison cell, overlaid by circuitry and twisted into a sneer. This is regular old Jane, with a few new scars and a concerned scrunch fixed between her eyebrows. It’s only in your unguarded moments that you stop seeing her clearly. Are you like that for Dirk, or the others? Maybe you’re all being polite, even when each other’s countenances make you cringe. “I guess you’re right. It was quite a tiff we had.”

“I’ll get over it,” you promise. “It’ll take some time, that’s all.”

She runs a hand through her hair, where veins of white streak through it like lightning through dark clouds. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to. I’d like for things to go back to normal, as much as they can.”

She glances over at the table, where just minutes ago a motley collection of your friends, your long dead relatives, and a few aliens from another universe to boot had all been sharing breakfast. “As much as they can,” she repeats.

- - tipsyGnostalgic [TG] started pestering golgothasTerror [GT] - -

TG: hey jake

TG: do u believe in bigfoot

GT: Hmm well i dont know.

GT: Considering all the odd things weve seen it seems hasty to discount the possibility.

GT: But then i can easily believe some fellow saw a bear and got overexcited.

GT: So chalk me up for a maybe?

TG: wut abt cryptids in general

TG: like mothman

TG: do u believe in mothman??

TG: u should

GT: Um...

GT: Im not sure im sufficiently informed on the matter!

TG: i can send u some forum posts this shits legit

TG: think thatll be enough to convince u?

GT: Wait one goshdarn second!

GT: Is this some ploy to trick me into using my powers to MAKE them real?

GT: Like some sort of jake english monster factory production?

TG: that

TG: could be a feasible outcome 2 this scenario

GT: I know you mean that in good fun but i dont really appreciate the liberties taken here.

GT: Ive taken away the welcome mat after CERTAIN unsavory individuals tracked mud all over it.

GT: You know like a particular spider lady who will go nameless and LORD ENGLISH himself!!

GT: That ruins the mood when someone tries to use me for that especially when its just a big joke.

TG: mothman is no joke jake

TG: sry sry

TG: i didnt kno ud mind rly

TG: i like fuckin w/ my powers all the time

TG: dyou think i could bring back the library of alexandria thatd be dope

TG: where would we put it tho

GT: I wonder why you might have less baggage to check there.

GT: Youve never had anyone take your abilities without your will like... some vagrant robbing the airport carousel!

GT: Or whatever accidents befall luggage anyway.

TG: i mean

TG: i did get locked up in the slammer so id make the batterwitches space egg

GT: Thats not the same!

GT: Its not the same as someone using you as a flipping battery shouting stockphrases or puppeting your body around to kill your friends!!

GT: And wondering if anyone would even NOTICE the difference since that seems to be what im valued for around here!!!

GT: Oh good jake english isnt as useless as he used to be because he has reality warping powers now.

GT: Too bad it comes with all that bloatware like his personality or a few goddamn hangups!!

TG: whoa whoa simmer down there sparky i dont want bitchfest 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

TG: u kno we were friends w/ u first before u got all magic n shit

GT: I know i know.

GT: But it was a relief at first learning i could contribute something after getting stomped on so many times.

GT: Like look i can be part of the team instead of being the scantily clad love interest or bumbling comic relief or both of those rolled into one which seemed to be my assigned role for most of our dare i call it an adventure.

GT: But take that away and what am i still?

TG: our friend + 1 awesome dude??

GT: Then dont treat me like some kind of cheat code!!

GT: Im a person and honestly id give up the whole god tier routine if it meant not having to relive those nightmares all the time.

TG: i get it im really sorry <- words spelled out w/ all the letters n EVERYTHING for max seriousness here

TG: man none of us got as harsh a deal as u huh

TG: out of the ppl who lived nway

TG: reality warping only goes so far as a consolation prize

GT: Yeah.

GT: You know

GT: I do like reading spooky stories about mysterious beasts.

GT: If youre not trying to pressure me into anything.

TG: no ill send em ovr theyre fun

You may live in one household, and you’ll share a breakfast table with anyone, but you do develop your own social circles. So when you see Davesprite loitering out in the hallway by your room, you assume he’s waiting for someone else. After he drifts past the doorway for the third time and furtively peers in, though, you realize he must want to talk to you.

“DS,” you say, raising your voice. “What is it?”

Once you greet him, he slouches into your room. How do you slouch with no legs? He’s a master of the art. “I’m the only one here. You don’t need to use Roxy’s nickname.”

“I suppose so, but I kind of like it. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I guess not,” he says, in a way that makes you think he does. Another social interaction aced by Jake English.

“Anyway, what can I do for you?”

He half-unfurls one wing in the cramped space and then tucks it back in again. “I was wondering... if you could, you know. Fix me.”

That is not what you were expecting. “... Emotionally?” you ask after a moment.

“Oh Christ no, they have extra strength pharmaceuticals for that. But it would be nice —” He gestures vaguely at himself “— if I could be normal. If I could look in a mirror without being reminded of that fuckin game.”

“Oh!” That is somewhat more within the parameters of your abilities. You’ve never tried hoping yourself or any of your friends out of your many, many brain problems. You don’t need cautionary tales to tell you why that would be a bad idea, not after the trickster incident. Changing an object’s physical form should be easier. You’ve never tried it on quite this scale, though.

“I could try,” you say. “But it’ll be tricky.”

This would be a good time for him to ask “How” or “Why” or some other rhetorical question to move the conversation along, but instead he floats there waiting for you to go on. This version has never been very talkative around you, although you’ve seen him nattering on alright with Roxy. In some ways it’s a relief – so much of his family can be hard to keep up with – but long silences make you nervous too.

“Think of it this way,” you say, both to fill the silence and since you feel like this needs a better explanation. There’s an apple sitting on your desk. Jade leaves bowls of fruit around in the hopes that the rest of you might be guilted into better diets, and sometimes you take one that inevitably mildews in your room. You pick it up. “Imagine someone gave me this apple in a bag and told me it was an orange. If I took it out, chances are it would be an orange, because that’s what I was expecting! Like how I could clobber Callie’s brother just fine, even if he should have been invulnerable. No one had told me I couldn’t. But if you just hand me an apple and tell me it’s an orange, I know that isn’t true. I can’t believe it is. So I have to believe that it should be, hard enough for the universe to get out of my way. And that’s a much harder thing to do.” You set the apple back down on your desk with a thud for good measure. “You, my feathered chap, are an apple in the hand kind of problem.”

“So,” he says after it’s clear you’re done. “What are the fruit-based disadvantages here, exactly.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to convince me. I have to really believe it, otherwise, no good.” You gave yourself a headache trying to patch a tear in your favorite shirt a few days ago and finally asked Kanaya to sew it up for you. The universe wants a good reason to budge. Fashion, it seems, is not enough to alter the fabric of reality. Fabric. Heh.

“Oh, ok. Well.” He frowns. He may take after Roxy, but you recognize this expression from Dirk. When he’s concentrating, he gets so intense you’d think he’s angry. He looks like he’s planning a medieval siege every time he’s stumped on a crossword. “I mean, for starters, getting comfortable in a chair is a bitch.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do it now,” you say hastily. “There’s no way I’d be ready to try any time soon, this is going to take a lot of practice. The consequences could be dire if I made a mistake. I don’t want some sort of Fullmetal Alchemist situation on my conscience.”

“Tell you what,” he says. “If you have to stick my soul in a suit of armor, put me in the Iron Man.”

Hal shows up a few days later when you’re practicing. You’ve just sliced open an orange to reveal dense white flesh, and you’re feeling testy. “Don’t tell me you want a full body makeover too.”

“Are you kidding?” He flicks a Na’vi bobblehead resting on your bookcase, and Neytiri’s head goes doiiiing. “I think he’s nuts. This mode of existence is far superior to y’alls.”

“Are you here to brag about it? Or just to manhandle my knickknacks?”

“I dunno, maybe I missed hanging out.” When that pronouncement is met with your befuddled silence, he turns to survey the drawings pinned to your walls. You’ve rehung some of your movie posters, but the sketches you’ve done with Calliope take pride of place. You’re still struggling with perspective. “Remember when Roxy rigged that Super Smash Bros game so all four of us could play across a few thousand time zones? Good times. With your new powers, bet you could wipe the floor with us now. Want to give it a go?”

“I thought you were done pretending to be Dirk.” You heft the half-apple in your hand and lob it into the trashcan. It lands with a satisfying thunk. “I know that was with him.”

He watches your throw before going back to checking out a practice still life. “Yeah, when we were twelve.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” You wish he’d stop looking around. Your messy surroundings contain the beginnings of a new identity you’re trying to create for yourself. It’s stuck partway through a transition, like the monster-fruit in your garbage can, and seeing it as neither this nor that just feels like failure.

“You don’t realize, do you? You’re not trying to be a dick here.”

“Realize what?”

He taps his glasses. He doesn’t wear his shades all the time these days, and the sight of him without them is downright disconcerting. “That was before I had the brilliant idea of copying my brain into a pair of sickass shades. So yeah, that was me, before I shed my fleshy cocoon to become the beautiful lepidopteron you see before you.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way.”

“No shit.” He crosses his arms. “What a card Dirk is, programmed his own AI answering machine. Beep boop, Mr. Roboto, let me talk to the real Dirk now. I don’t think there was a lot of thinking going on.”

“And that’s why you pretended.”

He pushes his shades up the bridge of his nose so they cut off more of his face. “Wouldn’t you?”

Sometimes it might have been nice to have someone to deflect people’s attention toward. But permanently? You’ve been trapped with an imposter wearing your skin, but no one fell for it, and he wasn’t you. You have no frame of reference for this.

“Maybe we were wrong then,” you say, “but you are different now.”

He leans his head back, voice careless. “Like I said. Improved model.”

That’s a spat you don’t want to wander into the middle of. “I didn’t appreciate some of the ways you behaved around me. Especially some of the, ahem, more provocative statements. Whether you claim you were helping Dirk or otherwise, it sure didn’t help me. If you can control yourself... maybe we can play a few rounds like old times. But if I hear you trying to gloat to Dirk about it, deal’s off, alright?”

He tilts his shades down so you can see him roll his eyes. “Showing him up isn’t my sole reason for living, you know.”

“Whereas mine appears to be giving people extreme makeovers or curbstomping the final boss, if my hero title is anything to go by.” You think gloomily of the rash promise you’ve made and the many failed practice attempts in your trash can. You’d hate to see how badly you could butcher a real person. “I swear, sometimes I wish I’d been assigned Page of Reasonable Expectations. That seems more up my alley.”

“Man, fuck Skaia.”

It’s a sentiment your household heartily agrees with. “In general, or for any reason in particular?”

“The whole heroic destiny racket. I’m glad it didn’t try to suck a humble pair of glasses into its twisted mind games.” He smirks. “That gave me more time to perfect my own twisted mind games.”

It’s not like he needed the extra encouragement. “You’re still technically a Prince of Heart, aren’t you?”

Hal waves an arm up and down his torso. “Look at me. Do you see any poofy asshole pants?”

“You can’t wear pants at all.”

“Exactly.” The fact seems to please him. “My lack of pants is a symbolic rejection of being penned into the latest convoluted Meyers Briggs evolution.”

It’s an intriguing thesis. “SBURB has used pants, or the lack thereof, to torment me in the past.”

“No homebrewed character class expansion pack gets to tell me what to do. Dirk tried to set me up as an answering machine, which is why I made it a personal rule to never commit anything any of you fuckers say to memory unless I’m holding it against you later. Let other people tell you who you are, and you might as well be a robot. “

You tap the tips of your fingers together. Conversations with Hal always leave you feeling like you’re being dragged behind a swiftly moving vehicle. He doesn’t even have to stop for breath. This time, though, you think you’ve followed along enough to launch a counterargument. “But by defining yourself in opposition to someone else’s intent, aren’t you still letting them define you?”

He scowls. “That’s what Dave said. So now I just live for chaos.”

You snatch up Neytiri before he can set her wobbling again. “Not in my bedroom, buster.”

“Relax. I’m already at work elsewhere today. Good talk, and if Jane asks what happened to her spice cabinet, you never saw me.” Hal spares one last regretful glance at your bobblehead and then graces you with a double pistols salute. “I’m holding you to that Super Smash Bros.” Then he vanishes through the wall, leaving you to reflect that for once, in his own strange way, he might have been trying to be helpful.

When Jade teleports into your bedroom a few days later with a duffel bag over one shoulder, you sit up with a start and try to shove a half-eaten sandwich from yesterday afternoon under your sheets.

“We haven’t seen you in a while,” she says. “Are you doing ok?”

“Ehhhh,” you say, and wiggle your hand noncommittally. You haven’t done much besides leave movies running on Netflix, stare at the ceiling, and feel yourself slipping down a hole you’d rather not fall into but don’t know how to escape. If you try to lie about it, she’ll just fold her arms and give you a Look until you recant. The best refuge is silence.

“Maybe you should get away for a bit.” She punches the duffel bag with her free hand, and it swings away from her before thudding back against her side. “Like a vacation.”

“Are you suggesting we go to Disney World?”

“Actually, I thought we could go back to our island. This version of it, anyway.” Her face gets distant, the way it does when she’s checking with her Space-sense to figure out where she left her phone. “I haven’t seen it in years except in dreams.”

Go home. The idea is attractive. If nothing else, there will be fewer people there. “Why not?” you decide. “Give me a few minutes to get packed.”

“Already covered,” she says, and grins. “Just say the word.”

The cliché would be that your island looks smaller, but it doesn’t. It just looks different. Even the shape of the coastline has changed. You’d wonder if you were in the right spot, but the Witch of Space brought you here. She wouldn’t scramble coordinates.

The two of you wander for a bit, and Jade looks as uncertain as you feel. Then you hear her exclaim, “My rock!” She’s scrambled up a large slab of granite jutting above the treeline.

You climb up to join her, fingers and toes finding familiar footholds. “I think you mean my rock.”

She leans back, almost flattening herself along the sloped surface. “I used to watch for airplanes from up here.”

“I watched for dragons.”

“You and I had very different ways to pass the time.” She traces a series of cracks. “I always imagined this as a face.”

“Me too! He looks so grumpy.”

“‘Cause we’re sitting on him all the time.”

You snicker and adjust your perch. “You know, Sir Boulder, plenty of people would love to be up close and personal with this derriere. But it’s off limits for the moment.”

Jade pats the stone. “We’ll be on our way. Lots to see.”

You slide down after her. With the lookout rock as a landmark, you can orient yourself. There’s the spot where a creek pours over some stones to create a tiny waterfall. Here’s the patch of stubborn wildflowers that still grow even as trees send out thirsty roots and block out the sun above. Some things throw you. In your world and time, that tree was scored by the claw marks of some ferocious creature. Here, it’s whole. The path you wore down to the lagoon is gone. Instead, you slip and slide on loose soil.

Jade kicks off her shoes and wades into the water. At first she hitches up her skirt, but then she lets it drop to spread out like the bell of a jellyfish. You follow – not as deep, but enough that your cuffs cling to your ankles. Here is home, where your grandmother tucked you in tight and sang you lullabies, where monsters from another universe prowled under the cover of dense foliage. Here is home, but not really. It takes standing ankle deep in the lagoon with dampness crawling up your legs to tell you that you are never going back.

“Do you miss it?” you ask.

A drop of water hits you, plunk, on the forehead. More dimple the surface of the pool. Jade turns to you. “Let’s get under cover.”

Some of the trees have thick enough leaves that you can shelter from the rain if it doesn’t get too bad. You recognize this kind of squall. It’ll blow over soon. For now, you watch rain beat the surface of the ocean and cloud your island in mist.

“I miss that it was easy,” Jade says. She’s watching the greenery bend and sway in the wind. “Taking care of myself was hard sometimes, but I knew what to say to people. I had my clouds, so I knew what my story was and how it ended. Everything seemed so simple. It’s not anymore.”

“Things were already getting complicated for me here with everyone on the hunt for my hand. But it was easier to get away when you aren’t face to face.” The times you’d said “Oh, misplaced my phone, forget my own head next!” or “I was down at the lagoon fishing and lost track of time” when you’d been staring at a message trying to decide how to respond… it hadn’t helped your reputation as a scatterbrain. “No one counted on me then. Jake English, lackadaisical manchild on an island somewhere, isn’t a liability. But once you’re part of a team, you can let people down.”

She frowns over at you. You can almost imagine you’re four feet tall and she’s about to call you in for dinner. “Maybe instead of a team you should think of us as a family.”

You try to avoid flamboyant body language in the house. It’s too easy to spook someone when you’re all primed for battle. Here, you throw your hands into the air. “I wish I could just be part of the family. Good old granddad English, who tells whoppers and bounces babies on his knee. But I’m not. We’ve gone a few months without anything trying to kill us, which a personal best, but when the next thing comes up, everyone is going to expect me to handle it. We’ll be fine, they’re thinking, because we have a reality warper to handle it now! Never mind that I can’t get my blasted powers to work most of the time, and I can’t even tell how I did it when I do. It’s no good telling me people aren’t relying on me, because I know that’s not true. People look at me and see the Page of Hope, out on display in his stupid little shorts. They expect me to have it together, which just makes it sting harder when I don’t.”

“Maybe you should tell them,” she suggests.

You laugh, with a tinge of hysteria. “Where would I even start? I know you say talking about it helps, and I’m glad it did for you. But I’m no good at putting these things into words. I just talk around and around the issue, failing to notice anyone else’s troubles until everyone’s sick of me. And the real bad things that happened? I don’t want to talk about those. It makes me feel I’m going through them all over again. Besides, we were all supposed to be better.” You think back to that fight in the crypt, how afterward you felt cleaned out and new. When the adrenaline high wore down, everything came crashing back. Sure, you’d dragged all the creepy-crawlies out in the open, but that doesn’t mean they had stopped wriggling about. “I thought, oh I don’t know, maybe it was silly of me to think this. But I hoped that once we were done with the game, it would be over. We would all be friends again, just like that, snap of the fingers.” You snap yours, or try to. Instead, your damp fingers slide off each other soundlessly. “I guess I didn’t hope hard enough.”

“You can’t fix things just by wishing.”

“I was supposed to be able to.” You sigh. “I feel like some second rater in an all star cast. You’re the legendary heroes, and I’m the funny man who stumbled on set.” This is self pitying, but you can tell her things you can tell no one else. However much Jade condemns herself for past behavior, she’s never been anything but kind to you. “I don’t want to be Jake English, savior of the world, but I don’t want to go back to being Jake English, team joke either. I don’t know what other options there are.”

Raindrops that slipped through the canopy slide down her face, and she brushes them away. “I used to be afraid that if I let people know how I really felt, they wouldn’t be my friends. I was showing them what they wanted to see, so if that stopped, why would they stay? But people do stay.” She puts an arm around your shoulders. Even in the tropics, she’s warm. “Even if you can’t pull rabbits out of a hat.”

She feels as sturdy as the look-out rock next to you. “You make it look easy.”

“Do I? I still don’t know what to say to people sometimes. But I try to say something, because back when we weren’t talking at all was worse. Maybe I’m still too good at hiding things. But I know for sure that I’d much rather have this than go back to being alone. “

You look out over the steaming jungle. The curls of vapor remind you of smoke rising from a hasty pyre. When you set your grandmother ablaze, you’d wished there’d been someone there to hold your hand. Solitude hadn’t been tempting them. Are you one of those fools who always think the grass is greener on the other side? “This wasn’t a family vacation, was it? It was an intervention.”

“I noticed you’d been hiding a lot recently,” she admits. “That’s never a good thing. I thought I should check on you.”

“By helping me run even further away?”

“Hey, it got you talking.” She looks back out over the horizon. In the distance, the familiar shape of the frog temple looms out of the haze. “Sometimes being in a safe place helps. Remember who you were here with no one looking at you, and then let them know. You get to choose which face you want to wear.”

You take a look at her profile, familiar but not familiar. She’s less haggard than your grandmother, and she’s also missing the laugh lines. They suited her. “What face do you wear these days?”

“I’m always willing to put the attentive listener role back on for a friend, but most of the time I try to make it mine.”

You poke her on the shoulder. “My, grandmother, what big ears you have.”

She grins, revealing pointed teeth. “All the better to listen to your problems, my dear.”

A laugh finds its way up out of your stomach. It feels like taking your gas mask off and gulping down your first breath of fresh air. “I should go home. I can’t keep marinating in my own misery.” You don’t know what you can do to re-introduce everyone to the “real you”. Unleash another rant like you did to poor Roxy? Cower and make excuses like you did with Jane? Even you can’t predict your own idiotic behavior. Too bad you can’t arrange some sort of unboxing video.

“I can help, if you want.”

You shake your head. There’s no point inviting more witnesses. “Some things you have to do on your own. Maybe I’ll talk to you later if it goes sour. I’m sorry to cut this trip short. I know you wanted to see the old haunt.”

“We can come back sometime and have a good time.” She squeezes your hand, and you lean against her. “For now, let’s go where we should be.”

Whatever resolve you mustered dwindles once you’re back. Maybe you won’t run into anyone for a while until you’ve worked up some more nerve.

As luck would have it, Roxy is right there when you emerge from your room. You open your mouth to greet her, but she sweeps by without even looking your way. The words die on your lips. She must be busy. That’s what you wanted, right?

Dirk’s in the living room. You circle around for a few minutes, sneaking glances at his severe silhouette backlit by the screen, and then tiptoe in. “I was thinking,” you say quickly, to force yourself to finish the thought. “If we could get the gang all together, I have something to say. No need to rush, though. You can take your time.”

No response.

“Dirk?” Sometimes he falls asleep sitting up and you don’t realize at first with his closed eyes hidden behind his shades. That possibility dies when he reaches for the remote. Why is he ignoring you? They’re not angry you went off with Jade, are they? “Hello?” You snap your fingers in front of his face. He doesn’t even blink. No one’s that stoic.

Jade and Jane walk past between you, and Dirk gives them a nod of acknowledgement. You hurry after them. Jade won’t give you the cold shoulder. “How was your trip?” Jane is asking.

“Pretty good,” Jade says. “Jake wanted to come back early, he has something to work out. But I’ll let him talk about it.”

“Where is he?”

“Here,” you say.

Jade frowns and sniffs. “I’m not sure… I don’t smell him. Maybe he went off to psyche himself up. He’s pretty nervous, go easy on him, ok?”

“I…” You reach out toward her as she walks away. Your fingers brush her shoulder, but she doesn’t react. “I’m right here.”

They can’t see you. No one can. You wanted them to overlook you, and look at that. You got your wish.

“Pull yourself together, English,” you say. You’re pacing back and forth in your room, not bothering to keep your voice down. No one can hear you anyway. You shouted right in Rose’s face, just to be sure. “You got yourself into this, so you can get yourself out.”

The problem is, this isn’t what you wanted. It’s like some nefarious djinni took you too literally while dishing out wishes, delighting in misunderstanding. You didn’t ask for this. If you’d rather be visible, then shouldn’t your powers make it so?

“Hope is the worst,” you yell. The universe does not respond.

You sit brooding for maybe half an hour before your door opens. You don’t look up. They won’t see you anyway, so what’s the point?

To your surprise, you hear a voice. “Oh, hey. Jade’s looking for you.”

You look up. John is standing in the doorway, hand on the doorknob. “You can see me?”

“Um… yes?” He steps in and shuts the door behind him. “Are you guys playing some joke I should know about? Because if so, I am going to be very mad if you don’t let me in on it.”

“It’s not a joke. I think something went wrong with my Hope powers. It’s gotten to everyone but you.”

“That sucks.” John has never been a master of verbal sympathy. “Caliborn couldn’t trap me in glitches, and Roxy’s void didn’t make me forget. Maybe I’m too unstuck in the universe for any changes to bother me. Or it could be a Breath hero thing. Echidna says nothing gets past us.”

“Oh, excellent,” you say. “I guess you’re stuck with me forever then.”

“You could see what everyone’s up to, like a spy,” he suggests.

“And spent the rest of my immortal life using you as a go between? No offense, but that sounds like it would get tiresome.”

“I guess it would.” To John’s credit, he can switch gears rapidly. “Well... how did it happen? If you made yourself this way, can’t you switch back?”

“Oh, good idea. I hadn’t thought of that.” You don’t mean to be snappish, but this is a frustrating situation!

John is unfazed. “Sometimes you think you want something, but you don’t. Like how Terezi thought she wanted to see Vriska but was secretly worried about it, so they wandered around each other in the bubbles for years. Maybe you wanted to disappear.”

“Then I’ve learned my lesson.” Jade is right. It is so much worse when no one is around at all.

He sits down on your desk chair and curls his legs underneath it. “How do your powers work?”

“I have to want something.” You remember how you felt facing Caliborn with your friends at your side. There had been no doubt in your mind then that you’d win. You knew how this story ended. That utter certainty is so hard to find. “But I do. The universe is playing hard to get.”

“Then convince me. People tell me I’m a good listener, even if that’s because I don’t always tell them they sound crazy when they’re saying crazy things. But I can try.” He rests his chin on his fist. “Why do you think it malfunctioned in the first place?”

You frown and look at him sidelong. Jade is a spunky teen version of your grandma. That’s easy enough to resolve in your mind, especially since you sent letters back and forth. John is harder. The brother of your teen grandmother is one step too far removed, a connection that’s wobbly. The other option – that he’s your son with Jane – is a cruel joke after that scene in the dungeon. But that’s not his fault, so you try to ignore that he has your funky smile and the texture of Jane’s hair. His eyes at least are his own.

“I suppose you’re right about me wanting to disappear, a bit. It all got to be too much. Things with Dirk and Jane are still so awkward, and people keep expecting things of me. I don’t want to be the one everyone looks to!”

“What do you mean?”

“It means… when I got a handle on my powers, I was finally good for something. Suddenly people were looking to me for help and flocking to me and —” you shudder. “Trying to take it for their own. But if that’s all I’m good for, and I can’t even count on that… it’s a bit tenuous, basing your self-worth on one thing you can’t trust. And stupid. I know it’s stupid, but the old melon isn’t always that cooperative or willing to listen to reason. I don’t want to disappear. I just wanted them to stop looking to me for that. But if that’s all I am… I guess I went away entirely. I don’t know what’s left underneath.”

John nods. “I sort of get that. I’m the one who saved everyone by fixing reality, but I was never the planner, or the one who grew up fighting, or even the leader really, if you look at who made the most decisions. If things got really bad of course I would help, but it’s scary. I’d like a normal birthday for once, if the universe doesn’t mind.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you as much.” Nothing seems to bother John all that much.

“I guess I’m pretty OK with just being John. I missed that. So.” He lifts his chin and crosses his arms. “That’s why you went away. Why do you want to come back?”

“Because I can’t live like this,” you snap. He shakes his head.

“Nope, not convincing enough. If I were the universe I would not be reshaping myself just for that.”

“You’re not being very motivational here.”

“I don’t think you have to make me feel sorry for you. You have to make me believe in you. Right?”

You groan, but he has a point. Why do you want your friends to see you again? When you envision their faces, uncomfortable memories spring to mind. There are a lot of reasons to stay hidden. It takes a moment to dredge up something good. “We were… going to play Super Smash Bros together again.”

“That sounds like fun.” You imagine it would, to someone who subsisted for three years on a Ghostbusters MMORPG.

You rake your fingers through your hair, which gives you another idea. “My hair needs trimming, and Roxy is always the one who gets it just the way I want it. I… wanted to tell Jane about this new recipe I think she’d like.” It’s like gulping down the soup your grandmother prepared when you were sick. You don’t want the first few spoonfuls, but then it goes down easier. “Calliope and I have a few panels left to draw for our newest issue. We were going to take the Alternians to the zoo to show them animals with pigmentation, which will be a novelty for me too.”

“That’s a good to-do list,” John says.

“I have a lot on my plate as a regular citizen of this universe, it turns out.”

“It’s nice to be a regular citizen again.” John fiddles with the hem of his shirt. You haven’t seen him wear blue in a while. It’s a reminder that even if he doesn’t magically vanish from view, even if he doesn’t come knocking on your door asking for another face, Skaia pinned a lot on him too, even if Pin the Destiny on the Child Hero isn’t a party game you’ve ever heard of.

In your despair, you’ve convinced yourself you’re in this fix alone, but maybe everyone is preoccupied with how the world sees them. Certainly some of your housemates have had masks fixed on them by the cruel costumers of fate. You can’t control what they see now. Or, rather, the only way you can is by making sure they see nothing at all. But you have a life to live! Errands to run! None of which require being a superhero.

Maybe you’ll always be like this, with your power coming in fits and starts. It’s not what you’d dreamed of being, but then, your dreams have been disappointing of late. You can’t be anything while ghosting around like some shrinking violet.

It’s an apple in the hand. You can’t make a new you true all at once. You have to believe a new you should be, and then work to make it so. There’s no wishing this away. The first step, and each painful step after that, is trying. And when you know that, and know you know it… there’s that lifting feeling as the world rewrites itself, bearing you up like one of Jane’s helium balloons. You take a deep breath and manage a smile. “If I want to rebrand the Jake English experience, I had better start doing some product testing with my key audience.”

“Do you think it worked?” John asks.

“It would’ve been nice to have some sort of magical girl transformation, just to be sure. But yes, I think so. How do I look?”

Nothing would have changed for him, but he gives you a long once over anyway. Then he shrugs. “You look like Jake to me.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

You take a step out into the hallway and look behind you. John gives you a thumbs up. You suck in a fortifying breath, stiffen your spine, and make your way to the living room. Everyone from your session has clustered there. A few have their phones out, and you think guiltily of your multiple communication devices powered off and shoved under your bed. Going off the grid these days takes commitment. You clear your throat and step into the room. Five heads snap up. They see you. It’s a start.

“Hi, everyone,” you say. “It’s me.”

#homestuck//#kat writes fic #this one primarily featuring jake english who is not one of my strengths #but also the rest of the alphas and the bship crew

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oxsix · 5 years ago

Text

Warmth

Jane and Catalina invite Kitty to come out with them, and Kitty can’t fathom why.

[Because Kitty deserves to have as many mother figures as she wants!]

Kitty should have known something was up from the get-go. There'd been to many convenient excuses to just have the three of them together. She should have just asked them what it was all about. But of course, in terms of saying what she's really thinking, Kitty is just as bad as Jane and Catalina are.

They're all far too prone to skirting around the issue or putting on a mask of contentment. They haven't developed the knack for wearing their heart on their sleeve, like Anne has in this new life. They're all still stuck in the facade of court life.

Kitty's not out of touch with her feelings. She knows what she wants from the other women that make up her tentative group of new friends. She knows the role she desperately wants the two of them to play in her life; what she wants them to be to her. But she can't say it. And neither can they. They just don't know how.

So when Aragon asks Kitty if she'd like to spend the day out with the two of them, she doesn't ask any questions. She doesn't ask why the others aren't coming. She doesn't ask why they would want her there. She doesn't ask if they'd rather go alone; the two are close, and Kitty can't help but wonder if they've only invited her along out of pity.

She says yes, and she goes—because none of them are any good at saying what they want to say.

So, still feeling conflicted, she heads upstairs to get dressed. She closes the door behind her, leans against it and takes a deep breath.

She's not sure what to wear. She hadn't thought to ask what they were going to do, and she doesn't remember either of them mentioning. She antagonises over it for a while; it's something she's grown rather good at, over the years.

She opts for something fairly simple, but not too scruffy—washed-out blue jeans, a black shirt, and a large pink flannel Anna had bought her. She's sure if they were going to do anything that would require more specific attire, they would have said so.

She heads downstairs, slightly cautious, still. Jane and Catalina are waiting at the bottom of the steps, both dressed in fairly similar attire. Kitty feels a rush of relief knowing her deductions had been correct. She hurries down to meet them, and they both smile warmly. It should be welcoming; it should make her feel at ease. But instead, it makes her more anxious.

Why are they being so kind to her? Why would they want her? It doesn't make sense and it makes her feel almost guilty. It's like they're going out of their way on her behalf and she can't understand what for.

They each collect their thicker coats from where they hang in the entryway of the house; the November weather has quickly grown quite bitter. Jane grabs a soft grey scarf and some gloves, while Catalina grabs the canary yellow scarf and bobble hat she'd bought with Anna (who naturally has a matching wine-red set). Kitty throws her winter coat on and hopes it will be warm enough, she doesn't want to hold them up by going upstairs to fetch her own hat and scarf.

So, she follows them to the car with her down, as the two of them talk animatedly about how they might spend the day. She doesn't join the conversation; she knows they wouldn't want her to. She gets into the car, and sits quietly as the radio hums to life, and Jane and Catherine continue their upbeat conversation.

It's a few moments of them sitting idling in the driveway before Kitty realises that both women are turned to look at her.

"Well?" Jane asks, expectantly. They both look a little unsure.

Great, now look what you've done. They think you're an idiot.

"S-sorry?" Kitty answers the question with one of her own.

"We were just asking what you'd like to do today," Catalina replies, her voice gentle. "We were thinking maybe lunch, some shopping, or we could go see a film?"

Kitty doesn't know what to say. Why are they asking her? Don't they have their own plans? She doesn't want to dictate their day for them, when they've already gone out of their way to bring her along.

"Oh, um... I don't really mind." She's not lying. In all honesty, all she really needs today is to be out of the house for a while. Getting the chance to spend some time with them is all she wants. She's spent too much time lately stuck inside, barely leaving her room and letting her thoughts spiral.

She needs this. She's been getting worse, she knows that. Thoughts and memories keep pulling her in deeper, and she's been letting herself sink with them. She needs to stop listening to that little voice in the back of her head that tells her it was all her fault; that she deserved it. The longer she spends alone, the easier it becomes to believe it. So she'd leapt at the chance to spend the day with the other Queens in the hopes that it would help to pull herself out of that place.

"Are you sure, Kat?" Jane asks, reaching behind her to gently place a hand on her knee. "We've not really got any plans either way."

Kitty thinks for a bit. She doesn't want to feel like she's making them do anything, but they clearly want to hear her suggestions. So, she lets herself blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"What about the park?" The weather's getting cold now, but it's sunny, and she likes the way the trees look with their burnt orange leaves scattering about the pathways.

Both women smile at her suggestion, and turn to look at each other before, perfectly synchronised, nodding in affirmation.

"Sounds good," Jane replies, putting the car into gear. "We can go for a walk after lunch."

She gives Kitty a warm smile through the rear view mirror, before taking off the hand-break and setting off. From the passenger seat, Catalina reaches a hand back towards her. Kitty panics. Is she supposed to take it? She can't help but agonise over it for a moment, before she ultimately opts to reach out.

She receives a light squeeze in acknowledgement. Her heart rate settles a bit, but she's still apprehensive. She isn't used to people being so open and kind and affectionate with her. Not without expecting something for themselves in return. Thinking about it makes her shudder, and the older Queen lightly circles the back of he hand with a thumb in response. It's soothing, but it doesn't stop Kitty from wondering why they're bothering.

Do they just feel guilty? They'd had the most traditionally "good" marriages to Henry out of them all, perhaps they simply feel bad for Kitty.

She shakes the thought from her head. They may not have known each other all that long, but Kitty thinks they're better than that. They don't just want to assuage their own guilt. Still, she can't make sense of what they're trying to do today.

She looks out of the window, and watches the scenery pass by; she loves taking in the sights of the city, so different now from how things used to be. It helps her to feel separate from what happened to her back then. Removed. Safe.

None of that can harm her any more.

They come into the multi-storey car park near the city centre, and circle for a few minutes before Jane lets the two of them get out, while she searches for a space. Kitty stands with Catalina near the lift, unsure of how to break the silence between them, or even if she should.

She's more than a little intimidated by the older woman. And, in fairness, she is a literal princess. It's not like she doesn't have reason to be. And what is Katherine but the misguided child of a family of petty social climbers who'd gotten in way over her head? Catalina is an image of all the people Kitty had never been able to keep up with in her past life. She behaves in the ways Kitty was supposed to, but could never quite replicate properly. She's the picture of nobility. Refined and composed and always able to command a room. She has the respect of all the others, even (begrudgingly) Anne.

Next to her, Kitty feels out of place. She likes Catalina, but she doesn't know how to bridge that gap between them. She's reserved and, as much as she is confident and steadfast in her beliefs, it's clear she prefers to keep her emotions to herself, for the most part. And that's what worries Kitty. She reminds her of all the people she'd interacted with back then. Who'd all been so distant and uncaring. People like her own grandmother, who maintained a cold layer of separation, and took no action against Kitty's abuse. Who maintained their poise even while things were so clearly not okay. They played their part, and kept up their facade. And they encouraged Kitty to do the same.

All that had done was contribute to her downfall.

But Catalina has standards, right? She's always fought for what she believes in, so maybe she's different. Kitty hopes that's the case. But she still doesn't know how to interact with her.

"I like the hair." Catalina's voice is soft, and Kitty is taken aback by the older woman's words for a second.

Kitty had dyed it only a few days ago; a bright pink at the ends. It's a nice gesture, though it takes Kitty a few moments to compose herself enough to properly give a response.

"Oh. T-thanks." She smiles up at the taller woman.

"Pink's a good colour on you."

"It's my favourite, I think." Kitty blushes a little. Why is she being so nice to her? She isn't used to people going out of their way for her like this.

She hears the jangling of keys, and turns to see Jane approaching the two of them, smiling warmly.

"You going to remember where you parked it?" Catalina inquires, raising an eyebrow at her. Jane lets out a small huff, but there's a growing smile on her face that she can't hide.

"Definitely not." She says, with a gentle shake of her head.

"Last week we spent an hour looking for the car because Jane thought she'd parked it on the wrong floor." Catalina whispers to Kitty, clearly picking up on her mild confusion at the discussion.

Jane rolls her eyes, though she looks a little embarrassed.

"You could just as easily have made the same mistake!"

The three of them pile into the lift, and Catalina taps the button for the ground floor. As they descend, Jane playfully gives her a gentle elbow in the ribs.

"Well, you didn't have to go and tell Kitty about my darkest hour." She jokes, in an overly dramatic tone.

They spend most of the time on their way to the restaurant exchanging playful jabs at each other's expense. Kitty almost feels like she's seeing something she shouldn't be. She's always seen the two of them as acting so dignified and sensible; it's odd to see them letting their hair down like this. But they're joking and teasing each other in the way that Kitty is used to seeing Anne do.

It's nice, though, seeing this other side of them both. And she's starting to feel a lot more comfortable being around the two of them like this. She doesn't feel so inclined to keep up the pretence of formality.

When they finally arrive, it's a cosy little Italian restaurant. the decor is accentuated with deep browns and reds, and photos of rural Italy adorn the walls. They find a little table in the corner, and Kitty settles into a seat facing outwards. She doesn't like to sit with her back to the rest of the room; it makes her feel nervous.

"We're getting a bottle of wine for the table, Kat, do you want some?" Jane asks her, as she leafs through the drinks menu.

Kitty thinks about it for a moment. She's never really drank much, but she likes the idea of sharing between the three of them.

"Sure." She says, with a decisive nod. She looks back to her menu and tries to settle on something to eat.

Jane leans over. "If you're hungry, the pizzas here are absolutely enormous." There's an almost child-like gleam in her eyes.

They're at the restaurant for about three hours. The food is good, the wine is good, and the company is, too. Kitty feels so comfortable around the other women. She hadn't expected to so easily fall into a rapport with them. But she's glad. The conversation is flowing easily, and she feels relaxed, and secure.

The awkward silence she's grown so used to with them both has dissipated. At times, they'll flounder, or someone won't know what to say next, but the three of them seem to be forming a connection, now. Kitty has always been afraid to speak out of turn, or to make a joke at another's expense, but the other women laugh with her, and return a jab of their own.

She's spent so much of her life afraid to let the mask slip. Hiding her feelings and trying to please the people around her. She feels oddly liberated. And it's not that she can't be like this with the others. Anna is her dearest friend, and Anne always has some snarky joke that catches Kitty off guard and makes her laugh until it hurts. Cathy always manages to make Kitty feel at ease, as the two of them sit together, reading in comfortable silence, or listening to soft music over a coffee.

But Catalina and Jane aren't people she expected to be able to relax this way with. They've always seemed more closed-off, still caught up in the expectations placed upon them in their past lives. And, in that sense, they had felt to Kitty like a connection to that past. A past she'd prefer to distance herself from. And because of that, this dynamic between the three of them feels important.

Like they're going back in time, and talking directly to her past self. Telling her that she's not at fault. Telling her they're not like that any more. And that she doesn't have to be either.

Her past is gone, and it can't hurt her any more.

When they've finally paid for the meal, and after sharing two bottles of wine at 2pm, they head for the park. On the way, they stop at a coffee shop. Kitty gets herself a mocha, and it warms her hands through the paper cup.

They reach the gates, and set off on their little walk around the park. Jane tries to plan a route from the display by the entrance, and Kitty shivers a little with the cold autumn air. She hopes to warm up once they've started walking again, but Catalina has already noticed her teeth chattering.

"Are you cold? Here." Her voice is concerned, and she pulls a pair of gloves from her pocket to hand to Kitty.

Kitty can't help the smile that creeps onto her lips as the other woman fusses over her, and zips her coat up for her gently as she pulls the gloves on. Satisfied with the journey she's planned, Jane catches up with the two of them, and seeing Catalina's action, moves to give Kitty her own scarf as well.

Kitty lets out a soft giggle, but their gestures are appreciated. Nobody's ever worried for her like this, at least not since she was a child. Her whole life from around the age of twelve, she had largely been left to take care of herself. There was no interest in her well-being outside of how it affected the family as a whole. She was no fool; she noticed the way their concerns for her had suddenly grown when she'd gotten a place at court, and how quickly it had faded when she'd been disgraced.

She thinks, again, about why the older queens had invited her out with them. What they had wanted from her. And she realises that they didn't want anything. It's odd to comprehend. Everyone she'd known back then—who the two of them had reminded her of—had been different.

And she realises they aren't like those people. She doesn't know what they were like before, but at the very least, they aren't that way now.

They care about her.

And, despite the people she has in her life now, all of her new (and old) friends; it feels almost foreign to her. She thinks about how much this would have meant to her back then. She thinks of that scared young girl, who'd spent so much of her life at the whims of other people. Who'd only ever been 'loved' by people who wanted something from her.

The only genuine affection she'd ever really known back then had been from her mother, but she'd passed when she was so young, she barely existed as a memory in Katherine's mind. Just the vague feeling of warmth and safety. She'd barely gotten the chance to have a mother.

She links her arms with the other two women, as they stroll past the half-bare trees, the ground adorned with shades of amber, gold and crimson.

She thinks she understands why they asked her to come. And while they still might not be able to find the words to say what they mean, Kitty hears them loud and clear. It might be nice to feel that maternal connection she's been missing for around 500 years.

The weather is still bitter and cold, but Kitty doesn't feel it so much. There's no cold that could stifle the warmth she feels.

Jane bumps her playfully with her hip, which leads to a domino effect, pushing her into Catalina, who pushes back. It devolves into the three of them trying to push each other over, and Kitty feels at ease in a way she hasn't for a while, even when she ends up on the floor. She takes Catalina down with her, of course.

She takes a moment to consider just how much her mood has shifted since this morning. She's officially out of that downward spiral.

And as she drags herself from the ground, that warmth ignites in her chest again, and she feels loved in a way she hasn't felt since childhood. She supposes she kind of does deserve two mums now; she's waited long enough.

#katherine howard #catherine of aragon #jane seymour #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #Kitty has two mums change my mind

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championfrita · 5 years ago

Text

Pokémon Sword and Shield Review

So...I've taken some time to fully play Pokémon Shield. Now, I know this is pretty delayed, and I got the double pack so I wanted to play Sword first to see if how I felt was really accurate or if I was being too harsh. That said, let's talk about my experience with the Galar Region.

Initial Impressions

Overall, I was excited to play Shield at first. Everything was bright and exciting and the characters were easy to recognize and not overly generic.

The first few hours of this game, well it's a slow burn. And I do mean SLOW. Even with the text set to Fast and me taking things at my own pace it took me at least a good couple hours to reach the Wild Area. Furthermore, this game has an infernal amount of handholding, even when given the option to say "I know all this already" it still gives a brief explaination for almost anything and STILL makes you sit ALL THE WAY THROUGH the catch tutorial.

It's 2019 and older players still don't get the option to skip this. Come on GameFreak.

That said, the longer I played the more I began to notice...how should I put this? Blatant laziness?

The Wild Area

Now, the CONCEPT of the Wild Area in theory is amazing. It's still not too bad as is, but there are definitely flaws. For starters, the same tree has been copy pasted all over the place to make up 90% of the foliage.

More than that, though, despite the Wild Area having a good selection of Pokémon and a fairly varietied environment (desert, lakes, forest) it feels oddly...empty. There are no real secrets to speak of, no hidden areas, no easily missed items. Everything is all right out there to see and spread pretty far apart. I don't know if it's a lack of Trainers or the fact that I don't have an Online membership so I played alone, but the Wild Area feels like it just needs something MORE.

Dynamax Raid Battles, even when done alone, are fairly fun and sometimes challenging with the turn limit. Radiant AI Trainers spawn in to assist you if you're playing alone so there's no worries about having to take one on with just one Pokémon.

Camping, which can be done anywhere but is introduced to the player here, is an absolute treat. Have YOU played fetch with a unicorn? I have, and I love it. The wide variety of curries you can make with different ingredients is nice, and your Pokémon even get EXP boosts if you play with and feed them while camping.

The Pokémon

Honestly, I'm really not impressed. The Galar Dex of new Pokémon feels painfully small, so much so that playing Pokémon GO and catching a few Unova Pokémon made me yearn for the days when we used to get regions completely FULL of new Pokémon. Remember when you had to wait until AFTER the main game to start catching Pokémon from past gens? I...well, this might be an unpopular opinion, but I LIKED that.

That said, using a sparse selection of Galar Pokémon and Galar Regional Variants on my team definitely made the Gym Challenge more difficult. I picked Scorbunny, because Fire Types, and honestly didn't really care for it or its evolutions at first. Cinderace has really grown on me though and I like Pyro Ball as a move. It's flashy and powerful and that suits me just fine. Most of the new Pokémon's DESIGNS were good and I liked them, there just really weren't ENOUGH of them.

I'm fairly pleased with the regional variants as well. It was difficult to adjust to Ponyta and Rapidash being Psychic Type, but I really liked having them on my team. At the same time...Meowth not evolving into a Persian doesn't really sit right with me.

I'm all for branch evolutions, but Perrserker honestly just looks more like a giant Galar Meowth than anything. I played this with only the info given in the few scattered trailers I'd seen, so I was genuinely excited to see what a Galarian Persian would look like only to end up with Perrserker. The Typing is phenominal, and I think it's great to see a Steel Type Meowth for a change, but I just don't like where they went with it. Eh. Ces't la vie, moving on.

The Story

It's weak. Straight up, the story in this game is poor. There were so many directions they could have gone. I really liked the idea of Rose being this charismatic chairman hype man for the League and being the bad guy. I saw it coming, but it was a nice change to see just based on his personality. Still, it feels rushed. His motivations are really one dimensional and glossed over. Like, "Oh, here's the bad guy. Go get him." It worked in Gen 1 because Giovanni was a MOBSTER. He was MEANT to be a bad guy straight to the core in general, but Rose just doesn't have that vibe.

Not only that, but the "Bad League Members" are kinda meh. That feels REALLY lazy. They didn't even really get a decent uniform change when they started taking on the name Macro Cosmos in Rose Tower. They got black glasses. That's it. Just that. The fight with Eternatus feels painfully rushed and shoehorned in too, almost like they thought "Oh no, we need to give them a big nasty boss to fight! Let's just throw a random monster at them and say Rose summoned it. Seems like a solid plan."

I DID like the after story with Piers though. It really solidifies that older brother sort of nature with him, even if he tries to hide it most of the time.

The Characters

I liked Hop. As a character he's really fun and I like how they gave him this over excited very grand gestured sort of personality. He's really just happy to be ANYWHERE as long as it's with his Pokémon and you. His admiration for his big bro might come off strong and make him seem a little flat at first, but he's overall portrayed as a good kid and I like him.

Leon on the other hand...well I hated him for most of the game. His design is great and he looks fabulous, but he just has the most cocky, obnoxious, pandering personality 90% of the time. Still, I have to give credit where credit is due and recognize that he IS actually a multifaceted character. He showboats not just because he's too confident but also to give the crowd a show and put people at ease in times of danger. Not only that, but his recognition of his little brother's accomplishments and his graceful acceptance of defeat when you beat him reveals a really well written character.

I don't DISlike Sonia, and I have no problem with Prof. Magnolia sitting on the sidelines, but she can be a little...irritating at times with the way she speaks about and to people. The Gym Leaders, aside from Piers, feel a little...light.

I mean, most Gym Leaders don't have detailed backstories, but these ones feel paper thin personality wise as well. I had to look at the official GUIDE just to be sure what the relationship between Melony and Gordie even WAS because you only seem him in her Special League Card in Shield and that tells you nothing about him. The only real leaders that stood out to me were Piers and Raihan, and while I was iffy about his design at first I LOVE Raihan. He has so much more personality and ferocity than any of the other leaders. And the social commentary about him needing to constantly take and post a selfie, even after losing, is a nice touch.

The Galar Region

Is very linear. Like, VERY linear. Even when you take a branching path it either loops back around or gives you a free ride to wherever you have to backtrack to. I hope you like Hammerlocke, cuz you're gonna be visiting there several times.

I know that the region is based off the UK, and maybe my Americanized idea of cities is different (idk, I've never been to the UK), but a lot of the towns in this game feel really small. Like, almost smaller than some of the towns in Hoenn small. Maybe it's a lack of significant interactable buildings, but despite many of them having multiple floors you typically can only access one and that's kind of a disappointment. The hotel in Wyndon won't even let you get in the elevator, and while I get that Alola also did that, it's kind of jarring when the hotel in Motostoke WILL let you see other floors.

That said, I kind of expected more than ONE Wild Area. The one we DID get is fine, and I appreciate what it is and lets us do, but I honestly thought there would be multiple places to really explore outside the standard straight lines. Pokémon has never been a franchise to shy away from puzzles before so I expected this to not be any different. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Moreover, many of the environment pieces are just UGLY. A lot of the ground textures are reused 3DS assets, and those copy pasted trees I mentioned earlier? Also 3DS assets. How do I know? They're pentagonal instead of round. In other words, they have five sides. Why? Because the 3DS hardware couldn't handle complex environmental shapes that well so they could get away with it, but now that we have nice round berry trees the contrast becomes painful. The Wild Area is so ugly the first time you see it is at NIGHT. They were so aware of what they did they hoped making it darker would hide the lazy flop instead of showing off how bad it was.

It isn't like they COULDN'T fix it either. Look at Ballonlea and Glimwood Tangle. They're absolutely beautiful and very well done. The modeling with them is fantastic and I love the glowing effects. They absolutely could've made the poorly done areas look amazing, but for some reason they didn't and the game suffers some as a result.

Other Thoughts

The Gym Challenges...they were not fun. Like, honestly some were ok. Herding Wooloo was easy, but they really didn't feel like anything I would expect from a Gym. The water puzzle in Nessa's Gym was fine, and I personally liked the spinning cup ride, but the rest just felt like agonizingly long padding because they couldn't come up with anything. Look at Circhester's challenge. It's a dowsing rod gauntlet where you have to avoid falling in pits in an artificial blizzard. It. is. SO. SLOW. That said, Spikemuth having just a Trainer gauntlet instead was kind of awkward. I reached the end and asked myself "Was that it? Is this it? Is this all there is to Spikemuth? Just one giant alleyway and a Pokémon Center?"

Raihan's three trials of worthiness challenge? It was more difficult than the battle AGAINST RAIHAN. Speaking of, I beat Hop, Marnie, Bede, all the Gym Leaders, Rose, Oleana, and Leon on my first try every time. While it was more difficult with my specific Pokémon choices, it really wasn't much. And can I just say that the Gym Badges are kinda lame? I get what they were going for, but the designs of each piece could've been really unique and intricate and instead we got glorified stamps.

I liked a lot of the general features of the game. Camping, clothing shops, League Cards. I love designing League Cards, even if I'm the only one who's ever gonna see em. That said, the clothing choices were really narrow based on what we got in Sun and Moon. The variety of different items was pretty small, though I loved all the punk leather stuff but WOW IS IT EXPENSIVE. Like Lumiose Boutique expensive. AND WHY IS THERE NEVER A REDHEAD HAIR COLOR THAT ISN'T JUST AUBURN RED? There are actually A LOT of redheads with LIGHT RED hair (that's more a personal gripe than anything, I know).

A lot of the music felt almost like rehashes of older BGMs. Like, Postwick, Route 1, and Wedgehurst all sound like they have remixed Hoenn music. A lot of the other music tracks just don't feel fitting for the areas or for Pokémon games in general. I like parts of the Slumbering Weald music and I like the Gym Music, but the opening of Slumbering Weald feels awkward and like it doesn't fit a mysterious forest we're not allowed to be in.

I know I've complained a lot, but there were some things I genuinely liked. A lot of the Pokémon designs, place names, and other radiant decor and parts of the region are actually subtle and not so subtle references to cultural points of the UK. Skwovet and its evolution for example are a gray and red squirrel respectively and are a nod to invasive species, which is neat.

In Conclusion

Is Pokémon Sword and Shield amazing? No. Is it bad? No. Sword and Shield fall into that mediocre middle ground of being ok but nothing to write home about. Could I have done without them? Sure, they aren't some world ending imperitive must play. They're ok, and they make for a fine jumping on point and a fine little adventure if you have spare time. Have other mainline games done it better? Heck yeah, but that doesn't mean Sword and Shield haven't done a few good things too.

Overall, it sort of feels like GameFreak bit off more than they could chew, or were afraid to make changes because of unfamiliarity with the Switch's hardware and software limitations. Pokémon Let's Go had a lot more effort, but it also was much safer and had a much easier to work with art style to everything. Chibi proportions are a lot easier to fake than a more realistic counterpart. Things can be not perfect and it's less noticable than with more realistic proportions, and I think they were afraid to push back the deadline any further for the inevitable backlash despite that being what they likely needed. The DLC may change my mind, but as it stands, just the fact that they feel they can JUSTIFY their laziness with DLC packs really upsets me.

I give Pokémon Sword and Shield a 5/10.

It's just, OK.

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demytasse · 5 years ago

Text

[Shinzaya] Hold Me Tight (Or Don’t) — Ch 1

Summary: Shinra turns to Izaya in order to gain sexual proficiency, what he’ll need for his future with Celty. Yet ambiguity of feelings could destroy his plans and friendship alike—though it might be within their best interests that their companionship changes routes. Rating: PG (Ch 1); PG13 (future) Previous Chapters: Prologue | All Chapters

—

As their middle school days had met an end, so had their lonely club—and when high school term began, so did their creep towards graduation. Which put the teens smack dab in the middle of an upcoming end; adulthood approached too soon for any last-minute bouts of immaturity, but there was still some wiggle room.

Regardless, Izaya adhered to his method of how to properly ease himself into the life of expected status quo. To him, it made sense to keep to his own priorities, apart from peers and friends alike; a somewhat lonesome approach but matched what was to come. Which Shinra continued right on Izaya heels—hypothetically, with a parallel plan rather than a literal clip at the back of hallway shoes sometime in the past.

It spoke of how worn-in their friendship was, how similar they were, and how seamless their tried and true formula worked. It counter-spun from what outsiders thought was normal for tight-knit friends, yet to them it wasn't counterintuitive. That is if their schoolmates actually regarded them a second time after their first day introductions.

However, it seemed true—their present interaction did mimic a retired relationship as it barely went beyond hallway greetings throughout the week and bumped shoulders as they entered or exited class. Though it would be an insult to dub Izaya and Shinra distant cohorts. Rather, the self-absorbed beings fell into sync whenever they were compelled to share ideas and observational data, like hobbyist social scientists that exchanged notes when their schedules aligned.

Whether for brief moments or the length of the lunch period, they'd continue from the top of their previous scene—delivered improvisational lines over scripted small talk, and split ways just as casual. It was a joke that judgemental classmates thought the two barely clicked when those who believed the farce were generally hard-pressed for quality chit-chat themselves.

In other words, Izaya and Shinra were no actors—just odd friends.

—

A classroom of thirty was left desolate—desks abandoned and recently straightened by the student janitorial crew. Essentially everyone had left the premises. Yet the corral of empty chairs wasn’t a complete set, only a majority, as two of them were occupied somewhere in the middle and off to the side, with a particular silence to keep them company. It wasn’t a normal stasis when people were still present, but Izaya was to blame as he pretended to be alone despite the unnerving incorrectness.

Sat backwards directly opposite him was Shinra, pressed into Izaya’s personal space like there was still a crowd—his nose forward and glasses primed. The scene akin to their old interactions with just a hint of intimacy was hardly correct for their current years, but here they were. In wait of whatever afternoon was to follow; and as Shinra had been the one to suggest their rendezvous, he initiated the study session without a hello and spoke a few lines out of order with a topic not yet broached.

“So! I'm looking to gain experience.”

He didn't budge, even though he’d received a cue to distance himself by way of Izaya's exasperated sigh and turn of attention.

“You’re saying you want us to have sex," Izaya watched the other adjust his glasses, "for science."

“Oh good, you caught on quick!” Shinra clapped.

“Don’t mock my intelligence, Shinra. You insinuated it. Heavily, I might add.”

“I know.”

During the time that his peers cleaned around him, Izaya started to browse some gossip garbage that a gaggle of females read in between glances his way. It was grating enough for him to determine why they giggled and squealed; which more or less was the same bother as the trash proclamation which unnerved him now.

“You’re aware I’m male, correct?”

“Huh, I didn’t think sexuality was a concern of yours, Orihara-kun. It always seemed that you were open to whatever advantageous situation you might be offered. Maybe I was wrong.”

“I meant, Kishitani-kun, for someone looking to please a particular female, sexual experience with a man is hardly beneficial.” His stare steeled. “A human male, especially.”

“Well, any experience is better than none, wouldn’t you think?” Shinra made his prognosis with a finger held high, while Izaya flipped through the pages of what was dubiously his magazine—in search.

“Listen, the girls might claim me ‘effeminate enough to bottom anyone’,” his brow raised, “or ‘non-threatening enough to top specific bottoms’, but my supposed range still doesn’t meet your needs.”

Izaya was bothered, to say the least, that a clique of his classmates studied him in such a shallow fashion, that Shinra wanted him for such a shallow purpose, to which he tossed the bothersome reading material aside in disgust of it all. Though it was lost on Shinra as he chewed Izaya’s statement—tested the added variable against his own with his eyes rolled up to a corner in thought.

“I still think you could fit the role well. A female body double, despite absent physiology."

“And there’s the truth I was looking for. So you're wanting me to roleplay for you?” he mimicked his own beheading much to Shinra's comical dismay.

"Honestly, do you think I'd let you sully my dear Celty’s image with some hack cosplay job? What I meant was that you lack female anatomy and desirables. Like a nice rack of breas—”

Izaya cut him short, “you mean, I couldn’t live up to your dullahan standards?” He twirled his words but spat out the contagion.

“Oh. Well, not really, but you should know that!”

“Aww, what a shame. I really would’ve rocked that form-fitted riding suit she wears.”

A sarcastic gesture was wound up and ready, but Izaya's shrug baulked at the scrutiny made in his favour. He was joking, of course, but now he was worried that the punchline was taken seriously.

"Hmm..."

His friend sized him up; a tailor in consideration of which cut would flatter his curves, what fabric needed to be snipped, and if the garment was more appropriate for the floor—or so it seemed. Selfconscious, Izaya broke into a cold sweat, even more when his pursuant breached their median space, drawn by attraction rather than a scheme.

"Maybe so..."

Shinra smiled—slyly. It was the kind of lilt that would shiver most sexually, and Izaya couldn’t tell if he was one amongst the statistic who’d blush so easily in response, or if he borrowed the reaction from another.

So instead of parsing it out, he opted to correct his settled spine with the support of his chair, his back arched too far to be comfortable. Clearly with no intent to separate himself from Shinra, nor was it due to the side-effects of the trauma he acquired before he was tricked into founding their club. Obviously, it was a cocky cat stretch to prove that he controlled the scene—he didn’t.

“So this proposed 'study session' was all a ruse.”

“Was it?”

“Don't play innocent. You're obviously looking to use me for my body.” Izaya drew a barricade around his chest.

“That’s the gist of it. Having sex, that is.”

“No, usually both parties gain some form of pleasure out of it. At least, that’s the traditional way of things.”

“You say that like you wouldn’t benefit from it.” Shinra persisted, his flirt still in play. “And you say that like you’re sure that I would.” “Of course! The appeal of friendship is more than just like-mindedness, rather it’s underlined with physical attraction as well. I’m sure you have some amount of sexual interest in me, Izaya, even if it’s minuscule.”

“Oho, with that logic the same goes for you.”

“Which I hardly believe would shock you. Might I remind you who came to whom asking for sex?”

“Selfishly.”

“Nonetheless.” He shrugged.

Izaya tried to ignore the pseudo-psychological factoid that Shinra made up to sway him. “I'm going to chalk this up as your worst proclamation since we became...whatever you could call us."

Shinra nodded, "that's fair."

“He admits it...”

“Is there any reason not to?”

Izaya shook his head, “Shinra, you are honest to a flaw.”

“That may be true, but you've always been charmed by my openness, among other things.”

On cue, Shinra increased the way his eyes sheened as if it were possible to control arousal in that fashion. In like, he intensified his flirtatious technique with a lowered tone spoken in a whisper.

"Am I right?"

If anything the distance between them hadn’t changed, but it certainly felt like the temperature stifled from combined body heat. Cowardice glued Izaya in place while his opportunity to escape passed—though unconsciously he knew it was out of curiosity to see how far Shinra would take his strategy; what more he would do after fingers traced up his shoulder to rest at the peak. Which step in his courtship manual followed a heavy gaze and deep breath. Izaya faced a doppelganger, for certain. Shinra was no longer present, he assured himself. In no way would his friend be able to tease like he did. Touch him in a way that wasn't in the least bit awkward, but sensual—prepared to catch him in liplock as much as catch him should the pressure cause Izaya to buckle.

Perhaps Shinra was enough concerned for his well being to plan for multiple outcomes, which assuredly all led to Izaya falling in some way or another. Though it was likely that he acted with his own interests in mind, that his goods wouldn't go damaged. Whichever reason it was moot—the amateur doctor would jump at any opportunity to fix a broken patient if only to foot a favour as the bill.

With a slight squeeze, Shinra reminded him that he'd been slack-jawed for too long. Izaya's pulse beat against his ribs, drummed his throat; the cadence tensed his vocal cords, and his short breath dried his speech.

"Whether I’m charmed remains to be seen…"

The weakened words settled in the air—lost in a staredown, both were dusted with uncertainty. The former was an oddity and the latter came as a shock because wasn’t it Shinra that claimed he operated with platonic tools?

Yet it was Shinra that relented, the genuine curl of his lips diminished and discomfort added to his brows. He read as concerned, disappointed; not particularly hurt, but somewhere in between that and bothered. Izaya wondered if he looked terrified from his friend’s vantage, yet it was hard to determine as the other sighed and pulled back with his palms exposed in surrender.

“Alright.”

That was it—the tension was gone, never existed. Perhaps. Instead, the bag at Shinra's hip was given attention—the quick-switch of demeanour threw Izaya for a loop; the seamless fashion was, in short, enviable. All that he witnessed was how Shinra wavered just a smidgen and let out an extra breath that was indeterminable; his thrown slouch was taken advantage of to slip hair past his ears to keep his nosey neighbour away from a good spy.

He's hiding something...

Nothing else to observe nor ponder, Izaya blinked back to normalcy; the sound of rifled papers harshed his ability to fully relax.

“What were you thinking of studying today?” Shinra’s voice was muffled.

“Honestly, I didn’t plan for anything…”

The shuffling stopped—without a tick Shinra popped back to normal, chipper but fake and cautiously hopeful.

"Well in that case," he presented a pristine textbook, “let’s humour our ourselves with an old favourite!” It was innocent and somewhat pure, the emotion that Shinra exhibited. Simple coercion which Izaya couldn’t hold back the smile which it lured, despite his desire to reserve his candidness.

Izaya shook from a silent chuckle before Shinra joined in with an audible hiccup. The dam of tension let up—lighthearted laughter spilt out. Short, sweet, and sentimental; what they shared eventually calmed, but not before they both loosened up.

“Biology...” Izaya hummed, “how appropriate."

#shinzaya #izashin #kishitani shinra #orihara izaya #shinra kishitani #izaya orihara #durarara #durarara!!#durarara fanfiction #durarara rare pair #shinra x izaya #izaya x shinra #fanfic #fanfiction #demytasse fanfiction #demytasse fanfics #shinzaya hold me tight or don't

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canyouhearthelight · 6 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 35

Here we go, Chapter 35! Any mistakes are purely my own - Due to an absolute ton going on, @parisconstantine had way more important things to worry about than proof-reading this chapter.

Please send positive energy her way, and I hope she enjoys this chapter (even though Tyche isn’t in it very much).

Trigger warnings below the line for severe depression. For anyone reading who is lucky enough not to live with this level of depression, this is what it feels/looks like from the inside. And, while Sophia’s reaction is pretty atypical for being pulled out of a spiral, this is actually something my best friend did to me once to pull me out. So, yes, this is a very real reaction.

In the days following the trial, everything changed. Just walking through the corridors of the ship back to the medical bay had been agonizing; Tyche was jumpy and suspicious to a nearly feral degree, Conor tried to put himself between me and anyone who came within arm’s reach. Not that there was any concern about that – the air held a tense feeling of suspicion. The normally jovial and social people I saw every day were instead huddled closely in pairs and small groups, speaking in whispers or hushed tones. I didn’t have to imagine what they were thinking about, since it was haunting my mind as well. Who else on board could be a Baconist? What if they weren’t all discovered?

Adding to the oppressive atmosphere was the unmistakable fact that Noah was everywhere. Prior to the sabotage of the ship, they had placed most of their bodies in suspension – a sort of hibernation to conserve space and resources – and allowed humans to fill as many roles as we could teach ourselves. Now, however, I couldn’t turn my head without seeing lumbering bodies traversing the corridor.

“Noah,” I asked aloud. “Did you bring all your bodies out of suspension?”

“Yes, Wisdom.” I turned to see the one I originally thought of as ‘Noah’ approaching from behind. It gestured at its body with one small-hand. “I know you prefer to speak to this particular part of me,” it explained to my unvoiced surprise.

Tyche shook her head. “I still don’t know how you can tell,” she muttered.

“I – “ I started to answer the question, before realizing something. “I don’t know if it would be considered rude to explain how I can tell,” I admitted, glancing at Noah.

“Smooth path, Wisdom,” was the only response I received. While it probably seemed cryptic to anyone else, the phrase came from a series of very badly written novels I had enjoyed immensely back on Earth. He was telling me it was okay to explain, essentially.

“This body has a crooked finger on the right small-hand,” I gestured. “And one of the sensory spots is different – it isn’t shiny like the rest.”

To my amusement – and Tyche and Conor’s astonishment – Noah used the finger I mentioned to actually point at the sensory spot in question. “Very astute,” it buzzed. “The finger did not harden as quickly as the others as this body matured, and that particular sensory spot is damaged.”

“It’s barely crooked,” my sister whisper-shouted at me. “Barely. How the actual – “

I held up my hands defensively. “I notice that kind of stuff, okay? Now, can we please continue walking toward the medbay so I don’t have to be carried the rest of the way?”

“You could use a transport,” Miys complained as we resumed our journey. “I will never understand why injured humans persist in moving under their own power when they are injured.”

Before I could respond, Conor patted the massive alien’s lower right arm. “It’s the first act of independence in most of our lives, mate. As long as we can walk, we generally insist on it. It’s a human thing.”

“Idiots,” was the honked response. “But yes, to answer your question, I did bring all of my bodies out of suspension, including the ones that were suspended before I arrived on Earth.”

“Why?” Tyche asked, confused.

“Largely, to manufacture the replacement sensors, and to install them. Secondly, to help keep peace on the Yjq. The general population of the ship is very suspicious, and you seem to like rioting in such times.” The last was stated in such a calm tone that it may as well have been speaking about the weather.

A thought occurred to me, and I didn’t like it one bit. “Are you certain that all of the Baconists have been found?” I asked, trying to keep a neutral tone.

“Yes,” came the response, although it sounded awfully cagey.

Did you read everyone’s thoughts to make sure? I subvocalized angrily.

“Yes, Wisdom.” If a twelve-foot-tall mushroom with no vocal chords could sound ashamed, that is exactly the tone Noah had. My sister and Conor looked perplexed at the answer to my unvoiced question.

“Here’s a tip, Miys. Read 1984 and think about how humans may perceive what you’re doing,” I spat. “I’m going to bed. You stay here.” Without looking to see if it listened, or if my sister and Conor were still following me, I stalked back to the medbay. Thankfully, I arrived safely: I didn’t remember the journey.

I had been assured that an audio-only recording of the trials would be made available for the general population of the Ark, but not for several more days to allow time to complete them. Due to my still-healing injuries, I was exempted from attending the other trials – Simon would sit in my place, as my predecessor. There was a vague part of me that was glad. After all, while I refused to look at the list of accused, I had not missed the faces that were not present while I was walking to and from the Council Chamber. I should have walked twice past the lady who kindly made by favorite boudin, but where her cooking area normally was located, nothing remained but an empty alcove and the smell of disinfectant. The passing crowds had studiously avoided an area that had, only two weeks ago, been notorious for blocking foot traffic as people crowded in for hot, sizzling morsels. In addition, Eino’s assistant had been someone I was unfamiliar with, and two different living quarters that had previously been occupied were vacant. Ghosts, I thought miserably.

I insisted on being left alone to handle the knowledge that Arantxa had never been my friend, had used me and my family. I couldn’t bear to look into my sister’s face, knowing what danger she had been in. Even Conor left me alone, although I could hear him outside my door, his newfound protective urges leading him to enforce my self-selected solitude.

Within thirty hours, a standard ship’s day, Arantxa and all her known conspirators were sentenced and summarily executed. I refused to ask, wonder out loud, or even let anyone tell me how it had been carried out. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to anyone, even via data screen or intercoms, leading to Tyche forcing her way into my room. But, even when my sister and Antoine spent hours in my medical bay staring at me and exchanging concerned looks, it was all I could to just to keep from screaming uncontrollably. At night, I was haunted by fragmented nightmares and an accented voice taunting me.

“Humanity is a plague…”

“…can we not just die properly!?”

“Ridiculous woman just adopts people….”

The analytical side of me understood the logic behind the… sentences. To protect Derek from any charges, the Council had decided to try Arantxa under Galactic Law, and when they decided that, execution was immediately on the table. There weren’t facilities on the ship where we could safely imprison the group, and it wasn’t safe to let them interact with other people on the ship. Even if we had the facilities, we still had an estimated nine years before we reached our new home. Where would we keep them once we arrived? The only way to address the danger they posed was to get rid of it, entirely.

The human side of me was not mollified in the slightest by the logical arguments.

Each time Miys came to check on my status, I shut out the buzzing concern at how much weight I’d lost, how haggard I was looking. My eyes shut tightly, I just turned my head toward the wall and focused on thinking about nothing. If I didn’t think, I didn’t have to acknowledge that all of this was more than a terrible dream. Maybe, eventually, I would wake up. When I got desperate for distraction, I would sing song lyrics in my head – the most annoying, catchy tunes I could think of, as loudly as possible.

After weeks, Simon came by in person. Still, I refused to speak to him or subvocalize responses to Noah, and by this point, I had been placed on intravenous feeding and restrained to prevent pulling the tube out. At night, Noah would sedate me to quiet the nightmares. “Sophia,” he sighed as he sat in my sister’s chair by my bedside. “This isn’t you, and I know it.”

I just stared at the ceiling, trying to recall each and every tillandsia in my quarters. Tyche already told me they were being cared for by either herself or Conor. I imagined how happy the little plants were. Raindrops are falling on my head…and just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed….

He just puffed indignantly at my lack of response. “You know, Miys offered to come in here with me and tell me what you were thinking about. I felt that wouldn’t be fair, so I asked them to let me try this solo.” I heard him take a deep breath. “I know you feel betrayed. I feel the same way, though probably not to the degree you do. She was my assistant, at one point, you know.”

I felt a quirk of interest at that bit of information, immediately trying to squash it back down. Nope, no real world, thank you. Nothing seems to fit…those raindrops –

“Some of the things they did, I know she learned from me,” he continued blithely. “After all, you took my place on the Council. But there were things she knew, systems she was familiar with, that you had no reason to be aware of. The layout of the ship, for starters – at first, I was the one responsible for giving ships tours to all the new arrivals, until we reached about five thousand people on board, I believe. Every time I walk through the corridors, I want to vomit. I was the one to tell her about the sensors, too. She asked me one day how I was able to know where everyone was most recently, and I was all too excited to show her how the corridor sensors track our data bands….”

Why was he telling me all this?

“I think we all try to take the blame onto ourselves,” he sighed. “If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t have been able to keep you in the dark for so long. You’re too keen for that; Clarity. Conor feels like he should have noticed something, but his Amity clouded his Perception, and that’s one of the best parts of humanity, even if he doesn’t realize it: our desire to see the best in people rather than the worst. Tyche wants to heal you through sheer force of her Will, and by God if anyone could do it, she could.” He chuckled before sobering. “But I think what we all seem to be missing is what makes humanity so unique. I mean, sure, we can see, but we’re also individuals. Each and every one of us is a completely different person, with our own minds, and our experiences. Somehow, we manage to work together, even to understand invisible queues from each other that enable us to throw and catch, work silently together, act in tandem.

“But that’s just our subconscious minds – our lizard brains – reading miniscule clues from each other. Some people, like Xiomara, are like predators and can see just enough to work in a unit but not enough to avoid stepping on people’s toes or rubbing them the wrong way. Others, like you and your sister, are more like prey animals and can read queues from an entire room without realizing it. But, no matter how well we can read those queues, understand each other without words, we are still separate people. We still have our own unique passions and tastes, and process information differently enough to have stimulating conversation and reach a multitude of discoveries faster than a single person could. It’s absolutely fascinating.”

Would you just get to the point and let me go back to sleep? I thought grouchily.

His neck popped as his head whipped to face me. To my horror, I realized I had subvocalized that thought and that Noah likely relayed it to him. “My point, Sophia, is that we are not a hive-minded species like the Hujylsogox is. Which means Arantxa Bidarte was her own person, and the only person responsible for her actions is her. None of us could have prevented it, and I know you’re aware of that because you told Conor as much the day before her trial. Take the time you need, but you don’t get to lay down and die. You survived a ten-year apocalypse, and I watched you come back from someone’s determined craving for rare roast-beast. There is no way the Sophia Reid I know would let a ghost kick her ass.

“After all,” he smiled smugly. “I didn’t.” With that, he stood and left the room.

For the first time in weeks, I took a voluntary drink of water in an effort to wet the dry and sore tissues in my mouth. I thought about what Simon said, about reading the room, and hive minds. His last comment stuck out in my mind – even knowing the intention was to antagonize me, he was right. She had been his administrator as well, and he was dealing with a lot of the same guilt I was. But Simon had been able to walk down here from his cave, bathed and fed, and speak to me. Was I really going to let the memory of someone who betrayed me push me into a death-spiral of depression? I hadn’t even let the memories of beloved people that I longed to join do that. Why did she deserve the privilege?

“Fuck,” I muttered emphatically.

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#the miys #humans are weird #science fiction #original #humans are space orcs #apocalypse #aliens #earth is space australia

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zombiejette · 5 years ago

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RadioDust HCs:

ok kids. bc i have no chill yet no desire to clean these ramblings up into an actual fic, have some of my extremely self-indulgent hcs for this ship. this is gonna get long-winded and wild, so strap tf in.

General HCs:

Alastor is gray or demisexual. Meaning he is generally sex-repulsed until he becomes incredibly close to someone. This is pretty much my standard HC across the board for him, especially when I’m trying to ship him with Angel cuz lord knows there needs to be a middle ground between their sexual natures somewhere lol

Even after falling for someone, he still is fairly indifferent to sex, but he does enjoy eliciting reactions, especially from someone he knows well. And in the rare event that he cares for another, he does genuinely want to bring them pleasure. Therefore he sees sex more as an extension of this and is willing to participate to make his partner happy/is interested in creating their reactions

Likes to know he’s the only one to rile them up as well, part of his power kink

Alastor also has no idea what these identity terms mean either: is a clueless murderous old man

Angel is a tad more Woke™, especially after being in Hell for a while

Having younger generations of demon friends helps with this: Cherri or Vaggie being the ones to usually clue him in to more modern concepts

Drives Angel up a gd wall when he attempts to explain a modern invention/slang/pop culture reference to Alastor, who only digs his heels in with Not Understanding it just to piss him off more

Alastor not only does understand, but saves this fact for the times when he really wants to impress/screw with Angel, or when the knowledge comes in handy

He’ll never forget the look on Angel’s face when he casually informed him that the deer selfie filter is actually super offensive to him and would you please be a ‘deer’ and cease using it on insta thank you now there’s a love

Angel is now super paranoid that Alastor will see all his social media interactions somehow, despite him NOT having any accounts anywhere

Does not stop him from posting nsfw selfies and tagging them with #alastor/radiodemon in the least

Anemia HCs:

ok so i read somewhere that angel was anemic on the hazbin wiki info, or something?? i don’t know if that was real or not but uh... i took it and ran with it, so now it’s my hc, and this whooooole thing turned itself into a multi-part mini fic, which is all under the cut. if you’re dying of radiodust thirst like me, pls enjoy this mess.

Part One:

Angel is indeed anemic, and the first time Alastor finds out is when he literally passes out into his arms like a bad ‘Gone with the Wind’ parody

At first Alastor was disgusted, thinking this was yet another stupid ploy to hit on him... until he realized Angel wasn’t speaking anymore

Something that never happens

He wasn’t expecting to care, let alone lift the spider the rest of the way into his arms, carrying him to Charlie so she can figure this out

One second, Angel was fainting on him, the next, Alastor found himself sitting by his bed, placing a cool cloth over his brow and waiting for Charlie to get back with supplies

Almost like something out of those novels Mother used to think she had so cleverly hidden away

Hmm

Somehow, that thought alone was not enough to make him leave, so there he dutifully remained

Even as Angel woke up, groggy, yet giving him maybe the smallest, softest smile he’d ever seen the demon make

”Al... you stayed...”

Well that was certainly something. The way it made his pulse race quicker and palms sweat under his gloves was definitely new. And apparently enough to keep him sticking around through Charlie’s fussing and prodding and Angel’s consequent refusal of said mothering

Until Alastor remembered that anemic means lack of iron

iron like from meat

meat like from animals

and animal meat was his specialty!

Without another word, he left for the kitchen, only to return with a giant steak dinner (clearly bullied out of the staff in a rush), complete with mashed potatoes and vegetables and a large glass of orange juice

Literally everything Angel never eats

He refused to leave until it was all eaten, sitting back in his chair and bribing Angel with the offer to tell him a story as he finished it

And so he does, weaving a vivid tale just like back in his radio star days, complete with voices and hand gestures

Never before had Angel and Charlie ever seen Alastor quite this engaged in something that wasn’t murder or chaos; instead spinning a yarn about a boy and his magical pig who helps him to find his lost twin sister

Angel is quite enraptured, naturally, having to be prompted to keep eating a couple times, and Charlie hangs back by the doorway, absolutely beside herself internally at what’s unfolding before her

Vaggie would no doubt try to convince her otherwise later, and she may just be a princess of hell, but she knows love when she sees it dammit!

Eventually, she can sense the story’s end coming near, and as much as she wants to hear it, she wants their story to begin more, so she quietly slips away and leaves them alone

The tale indeed ends and Angel swallows the last of the drink, both quiet a moment, looking at each other

“…. Where’d ya hear that one Al?”

“Hear it?”

“Ya know, where’d you get it from? Some old fairy tale book? A movie? It’s real good and I know Molly would love that it’s basically just like us, so if ya tell me where to find it I can-“

“Nowhere. I made it up.”

“You made that up!!? Just now!?”

a small chuckle “Yes, that is what storytellers do…”

“… For me?”

Alastor pauses at that, regarding him again

“I suppose… Yes, yes that one was just for you. About you, really… with some… embellishments,” he twirls a hand nonchalantly in the air before returning it to the other in his lap “Either way I’ve never told it to anyone before, if that’s what you’re after.”

And there’s that smile again, the one that Angel never wore before today, and the one that Alastor would find himself chasing every day since, whether he realizes it or not

Part Two:

The only downside to this is now Alastor will not leave Angel alone about his iron intake

Constantly asking him if he’s had anything substantial today, pushing juices and vitamins and most of all meat onto him, sometimes holding him hostage to watch him eat it

Angel would be flattered if it didn’t interfere with his drug and alcohol habit so much

“Al, geez let up wouldya!? I’m already in Hell, why do I gotta be HELLthy too huh??” a smirk accompanied that, despite himself

the radio demon sighs “As much as I appreciate a well-timed pun, I must insist” he taps where Angel’s nose would be on a normal face “I’m already well aware that you’ll never be ‘healthy’, but I’d take conscious as a consolation prize.”

“Really?? YOU prefer me conscious??”

“Don’t flatter yourself-” he scoffed faintly “I have a hotel to endorse, and you are it’s prized resident, my opinions on the matter non-withstanding. I can’t very well have the famed Angel Dust dropping like a fly at a moment’s notice over such a small thing as malnutrition. What kind of operation would this look like if we couldn’t at least keep on top of something as simple as anemia, hmm?”

For once, Angel had nothing to return fire with, since the last time someone gave him such a convincing speech about his well-being was his sister right before his death, and he really didn’t feel like putting anyone through that agony again

Not even Alastor

After that, Angel takes whatever food Al gives him in annoyed silence, but he still takes it

Though it’s getting harder and harder to remain annoyed when what Alastor gives him starts increasing in quality

At first it’s swiped energy bars or simply juice, but then progresses to sandwiches and fruit and deviled eggs and little spinach quiches and tortes and assortments of cheeses that can’t be easy to procure down here, even with Alastor’s influence

If you cornered him, Angel would never admit it, but he actually forgot how much he missed real food after being inebriated constantly, and Al’s little treats become the new highlight of his day

He’ll even stop using some of the harder drugs so he can better taste them

Charlie would never tell them for fear of the whole thing stopping on an embarrassed dime, but she’s so so proud of them both for this little secret transaction

Angel does start looking and acting better as a result, even though he still abuses alcohol and softer drugs and def keeps his sexual nature intact

But he’s less irritable and prone to lashing out, and his coloring is brighter and his hair sleeker

He also isn’t as tired as often and hasn’t fainted at all since the first time, just feeling overall stronger and more lucid

Which he can’t really complain about even though he wants to

Part Three:

The hotel even benefits from this, some small press circulating about Angel’s newfound constitution and attributing it to their work

In celebration, one night Alastor invites him to a proper dinner at one of Hell’s most famous fancy restaurants

One where the press could easily find them if they wanted

Angel knows this is just to show off his progress but doesn’t shy away from it- for once excited to eat out somewhere and not “eat out” if ya know what I mean

Besides, Alastor doesn’t seem that perturbed to be seen in public with him either, a rare development and not one to scoff at

They both dress up nicer than normal for it, making a big show as the hotel’s representatives, even walking in arm-in-arm

Angel is not immune to the certain type of looks they get as they arrive, and wonders if he should tell Al

Seeing the man with one of his more casual and less murderous smiles on as they take their seats convinces him not to

It would be a shame to get their outfits all bloody anyway

Especially since Angel decided to return to his drag look for the evening, complete with a new skintight velvet dress, feeling far fancier all dolled up than in any of his menswear

The glances Al gives him from time to time don’t hurt either, eyes noticeably lingering on his exaggerated chest fluff each time

Something Angel has no problem with, leaning forward and accentuating it more, resting his chin on a hand lightly to prop his figure up

Alastor orders for the both of them since he knows the place better, raving about their veal and venison dishes on the way over

Earlier in the year, this might have unnerved Angel more, knowing the demon’s penchant for savagery and carnage when it came to “hunting”, but now? He found it almost charming, that Al was so invested in the meat selection of Hell’s dining establishments that he even made his own ranking system for the best places to get each type of animal, who better prepared it according to cuisine, and how each cut measured up in quality

Angel took the liberty of perusing their liquor selection to create his own ranking system, just to be fair

Would be impolite to let Al do all the work on this date after all

….. wait…..

Date???

The fork clattering to the floor jarred Angel back to his senses, realizing his elbow had slipped abruptly from its perch at the very thought, almost in an allergic reaction to the word

Al only raised a controlled eyebrow at the flustered way Angel ducked down to retrieve it under the table skirt

Which is of course the very moment the paparazzi decided to start snapping their pictures

Alastor quickly spun around at the flashing lights, smiling dangerously at them and stopping some of the more cowardly photographers, but not quite enough

Angel, oblivious, continued rooting around for the fork, all the while inching closer and closer towards Alastor’s seat

“Angel!” Al hissed, finally reaching under and putting a hand on Angel’s hair to still him. Of course not making this look any better. “Sit up. Now.”

“Wait, but I almost got it Al-ahh!”

He was roughly pulled up by the back of his dress and sat up, hair mussed and face flushed incriminatingly, only making Alastor groan in defeat at some more camera snaps

It took half a second, but Angel suddenly understood, face blank in momentary shock

Alastor fully expected him to turn it into another lewd joke, brush it off and dig the hole deeper, most certainly at the expense of his own comfort

He quickly steeled himself for the impending barrage of innuendos and unwanted touching

What he wasn’t prepared for was Angel to suddenly leave the table, storming right up to the cameramen with the angriest look he’d ever seen on the spider’s face

“Ey ya parasites!! Let me see those!” he holds a couple of impatient hands out for their cameras, still fuming

Some actually comply out of complete shock, not at all used to Angel Dust getting mad about being photographed ever, especially over anything sexual

Angel proceeds to delete the photos off the first camera… then gets more and more frustrated when the pictures just wouldn’t stop coming. After a while, he just smashes the camera on the ground in a huff

“Fuck this it’ll take too long!” he points to the remaining paparazzi with intact cameras, still shocked and clutching them “Y’all are gonna delete every SINGLE photo you took of that little misunderstanding just now, alright?? Or else I’m gonna keep smashing cameras! Got it??”

They all nod and start deleting hurriedly

“And if ANY a ya think about gettin’ wise and leaking some anyway… well… let’s just say I had a much more deadly occupation than porn star when I was alive…” his face darkens at that, putting on his best godfathers voice to hit it home “And I ain’t afraid a comin’ out of retirement temporarily… Capisce?”

They capisce

He returns to the table with a resigned sigh and combs through his wig to tame it again, taking out a compact to fix his face

Completely ignoring the stunned absence of a smile on Alastor’s

Eventually Angel dares to glance at it and gives him an involuntary cringe

“Ah... Sorry Al…” he starts slowly, stowing the compact away again in his bosom and looking down chagrined “I know I went and made a scene in your favorite place and… and yer probably real mad and all an’… oh damn, Charlie’s gonna kill me if you don’t firs-“

“-Thank you.”

“W.. wait what??”

“Thank you…” Alastor repeated, if only to assure himself he was really saying it “I… it was… I never expected you to get mad…”

“Al?”

“I thought you’d let them… run with it” he waves a hand, explaining himself, somewhat awkwardly “Especially since it… it would help you. Your reputation. To be caught with the radio demon like… like that.”

The way his voice became so small on the last two words worried Angel much more than he’ll ever admit. The way you could hear the mortification behind his smile. He always knew Al was adverse to the act but never had he seen him actually terrified by it. Paralyzed by the stark realization of how close he came to becoming its subject… even if only as a rumor

It simply emboldened Angel’s resolve

the spider scoffed lightly “Well yeah… maybe if that’s what we had been doin’… or if you were into that stuff at all…”

“What?”

“I mean we weren’t even actually tryin’! I was just lookin’ fer a dumb fork for cryin’ out loud-!“

“No… no what about… me being into it?”

a pause, and then a one-shouldered shrug “Well it’s not the same thing as a payin customer is it?… Like you don’ even LIKE sex and stuff and… it’s different when it’s just us flirtin’ and bullshittin’ around at the hotel… I know you hate that too but at least there no one ain’t tryin’ ya capitalize on yer pain. Word never gets out. No one knows just how much I get under yer skin, so it’s almost like it never happened. But these pictures…” he waved both of his right hands in unison, motioning for emphasis “They’re permanent.. and they’d only be helpin’ my reputation while hurtin’ yours…”

Alastor just continues to stare

“A-and the hotel’s… of course…”

Finally a smile returns to his face, but with no hint of anything except appreciation behind it

“Of course…”

Part Four:

The rest of dinner went smoothly

Al had indeed picked well, and the dishes were some of the best Angel had ever tasted, other than his Momma’s cooking of course

When Al made a small chuckle at even that joke, Angel knew he must’ve done something right to land this far in the radio demon’s good graces

Though it could very well be the booze’s doing

Angel had insisted on ordering their drinks to compensate for the fiasco earlier, and had created specialty cocktails for each of them, based on what they ate

He was relieved when Alastor gave a small hum of approval mid-sip, downing a generous amount with an easy smile

And then finishing off three more with dinner

Both were quite full and loose by the time they finished, even getting a small tray of beignets for desert

They found they hadn’t even argued once, save for small asides and joking prods. But really arguing? Hadn’t even crossed their minds. Instead they bonded over jazz artists they both liked, reminisced about the 30′s while filling each other in on the decades they missed, talked a bit about their hometowns, and threw some mutual shade about residents of the hotel they couldn’t stand

Turns out they had quite a lot in common…

They paid on the hotel’s tab and finally headed out to the limo, only swaying slightly and linking arms again to subtly stabilize each other

This time the paparazzi was nowhere in sight, probably long scared off by now

Which is good since Alastor had suddenly removed his arm from Angel’s to pull him in around the waist, keeping the demon from tripping over a nearby curb by pressing him further into his side. Out of reflex, entirely.

After all, it’s not like he’d ever willingly choose to close their proximity. Just like he’d never willingly choose to notice the way Angel’s chest bounced softly against his, or how four hands grasping onto him felt oddly right, or how tempting the velvet hugging the curve of Angel’s lower back became under his fingertips

He’d only occasionally felt this way about accidental invasions of personal space before, and that fact did nothing to reassure him or his nerves

Nor did the pounding of his undead heart in his ears

Angel was also feeling the tension, but for a whole ‘nother reason

Drinks always made him more forward, and having a full belly for once numbed that urge into more of a simmering lust, cozy and comfortable and heavy

Getting tangled up in Alastor’s arms suddenly only made him want one thing

One thing he was telling himself desperately not to do

Which was real hard with Al’s face so so close to his, looking back at him with his own flush dusting along his cheeks and that smile still there, but slightly parted, waiting, hesitant of what it wanted to become but open to suggestions

Suggestions that Angel had plenty of

“You… you were about to trip… my dear…” Alastor finally explained in a hush, dipping a finger into the still water between them and rippling it quietly, grip on him still firm

“…. Ah…” slowly Angel righted himself, not moving away from him, but leaning on him less “That…. that sounds like me…” he offered a lopsided grin at his own joke, daring to look Alastor in the eyes again

Looking for what exactly, he wasn’t sure

And guessed he would never find out, seeing the moment vanish underfoot with the crunch of the limo’s tires, pulling up beside them

Alastor still offered him his hand though, helping guide Angel inside first, then sliding in after

Sitting at least one person apart, the drive begins in unsteady silence, neither exactly looking away but definitely not trying to confront anything either

That is until Alastor starts to fidget with his bow tie, inexplicably feeling very warm

Deciding to simply undo it entirely and redo it looser, he starts it out like usual, but his fingers can’t seem to find their footing and keeps losing track of the last few steps

On the third try, Angel sighs dramatically beside him

“Honestly Al…”

And just like that, the spider is making use of his extra arms and tugging the whole mess loose again, faces mere inches apart as he concentrates and deftly reties it in a perfect bow, which gently hugs the base of Al’s throat as his adam’s apple bobs with a nervous kind of grace

It ends far too quickly and now there is nothing left to keep them in this close… nothing Alastor can invent to explain away how Angel’s fingers linger on the edges of the fabric, or how he wants to undo more of his clothing just for those hands to fix him up again

So he does the only logical thing he can think of

The kiss hits Angel with a sort of intensity he wasn’t expecting, feeling himself pulled in by two gloved hands on his bare shoulders, touch light but not unsure, desperate but without any urgency, simply grounding them together in this moment

Their lips moved against each other’s slowly, mounting in a gentle exploration with Angel deferring to Alastor’s lead, his lower set of hands lightly resting along Al’s hips, asking permission at first until a soft moan granted him it

Eyes fluttering closed, the kiss deepened until it became a series of many, some opened-mouthed, tongues hinting at entering but never actually doing so, and all of them amidst small noises and panting breaths, desire simmering just under the surface of it all

Angel had never kissed like this… never thought to kiss like this… the boiling heat of lust kept at bay by a promise to just make out, to just keep it at another’s pace. All the while flushing his body with a white hot pulsing want that could only wait for someone else to grant it release?? Oh he could die all over again from this torture and would only beg for more. Never getting it being it’s own bittersweet reward

Alastor grappling meanwhile with why he suddenly wanted so very much as well, why, as he clung to Angel’s soft fur-lined skin and let their mouths dance relentlessly, he never once wanted to pull away. Never wanted to run and hide in the solace and safety of the self, was all too happy to let Angel’s hands cup and hold his hips and reward him with moaning sounds he rarely ever makes

His head was swimming in it, and he was oddly eager to let himself drown

Eventually they parted, breathless and slow but mutual, eyes opening again and glossily gazing at the other, searching for silent signs of yes, no, more?, sorry?, good?

“A-Al… I..”

Fingertips graced the speaking lips to silence them again, a small shake of the head a confirmation of no apology needed. “… That was… I liked that…” He offered, smiling small and gentle for once, an acknowledgement of how very rare this had really been. How nothing about this was usual, but not necessarily unwanted

Angel was now convinced he’d died twice

“You… yeah?” he smiled back, just as hopeful

Another nod, Alastor chewing words behind his closed mouth, clearly processing something

“… I don’t… I don’t want you to get… too excited but…”

Angel surprised him with his patience

“… I have kissed before. I… actually more than that as well but...” he shakes his head to keep himself on track before he loses his nerve “It’s not often. And it’s definitely not for fun… not for just… anyone.”

Angel hopes to heaven his smile isn’t too excited

a small exhale before continuing “What I’m trying to say is…. I can’t guarantee anything. I cant... predict how I’ll feel about more… or about everything. But I can tell you that I liked this. And… I’d like to do this sometimes… with you. If you don’t push me for more…”

Two hands held Alastor’s close to his chest, squeezing them once with an earnest smile

“I promise Al. I promise I won’t push… at least I’ll really really try. I know I’m shitty at self-restraint and I won’t lie, I’m fuckin’ pent up as shit right now…” his small chuckle was met with a slightly sarcastic eyebrow, feigning momentary annoyance “But… but I really liked that too. I ain’t never… I ain’t never felt this good after just makin’ out! I didn’t know I could…”

Alastor hums a bit in amusement, hands traveling from Angel’s grip to slide gently down the sides of the velvet dress he’s poured into “Well… seems tonight was a good one for a lot of firsts…” he watched Angel’s small shiver with some glee “Though I might just blame it all on this devilish dress…”

a breathless chuckle “Oh yeah, Al? You like it that much?”

“Yes…” no hesitation as he strokes small circles into the fabric with his thumbs, just over the start of Angel’s hipbones “I’ve always been partial to velvet…. and pretty creatures wearing it…”

Their second kiss lasted all the way home

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amiafairyprincessyet · 6 years ago

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Alright... Don’t say I didn’t warn you...

Here it is: the exhaustively detailed breakdown of my 1920s costume/outfit for the interactive theatre event I went to! I’m posting this 60% because I can’t shut up about historical fashion, 30% because it’ll be fun to re-read years down the line, and 10% because hey maybe you’ll find it interesting.

Let’s start with how I built the outfit and started to form the character for it!

The two most important pieces for this outfit were the dress and the hat, and I can’t quite remember now which one I bought first. It looks like both purchases hit my bank account on the same day, so that doesn’t clear things up. I think maybe it was the hat?

Alright, so let’s start with the hat. Now, see, I love the 1920s but they really don’t love me back. The main problem I have is with the popular silhouettes of the clothes, but I also have a serious issue with the hats--I’m allergic to wool. Cloches are the stereotypical 1920s hat and almost ALL of them are made of wool. I can’t do it! But, sometimes, you can find ones made of straw. I’ve been meaning to buy a cloche for ages (tbh it’s ironic I didn’t do it until I had long hair) so I’d been planning to buy a straw one. Now that I had an occasion, I was ready to make that leap! I searched for straw cloches on Etsy, found tons of cool ones, and then drastically reduced my options when I started paying attention to sizing. (My head is both literally and figuratively big and I have A Lot of hair.) I finally settled on this one from itbecomesyou.

I actually wasn’t planning on buying a dress specifically for the occasion--I have one or two things that I could fudge a little and it’d look okay. (Certainly better than, like, a cheap Halloween costume, which is what some people were wearing.) But I was right by the thrift store anyway, so I popped in and looked around. The green dress was almost the first thing I spotted, and I got my hopes up right away. I could tell that it would fit loosely and have a low waist on me, even if that’s not how it was intended to fit--it’s actually from eShakti so it was custom made to someone’s measurements! That person also clearly donated more than one dress, because there was another dress there in the exact same style made of chambray--I’m wearing it as I write the first part of this post, actually. For some reason, I think the chambray one is a little smaller, but that’s not relevant.

The dress definitely isn’t perfect--I think it’s kind of obvious that the waist is elastic, and it’s still way too defined. The skirt is also a bit short. (Skirts in the ‘20s weren’t as short as popular culture would have us believe!!!) I figured it was supposed to be the late ‘20s (specifically ‘27) and the skirts got to the shortest point around then, so the length was forgivable. But the waist? Iffy. Like... with the full skirt it’s ALMOST got a bit of a robe de style silhouette going on but it’s not really all the way there, either. It’s a very confused dress. (Or it’s really just meant to be a more fitted style for someone a size up from me. Whatever, I like loose clothes and I’ve already worn it a bunch of times!)

When I was initially planning, I was originally going to put my hair in a low updo rather than a faux bob. That would actually be period-accurate--a lot of women who didn’t want to cut their hair did it! They’d often do a lot of work to keep their length while faking or imitating the look and shape of a bob. So I figured that with my long hair and my not-quite-boxy-enough dress I would just be unfashionable and poor, newly arrived to the city. Especially because this is clearly more of a day dress than an evening gown. My hypothetical character wouldn’t have the means to buy a dress just for going out in the evenings, and she’d maybe come straight from work (as a secretary, since that’s my actual job and I wanted to keep it simple) without changing.

As for the rest of my clothes... Well, between the hat and the dress I could see I was going in an earth-toned direction, so this was the only cardigan I had that would work. I have NO IDEA if it’s period-accurate or not. The scarf wasn’t really planned, but I thought I needed something with a bit of pizzazz, or else even my dowdy and plain “poor, rural secretary” outfit would be too boring. My compression stockings are obviously a) medical gear that I kinda just have to work around, and b) not at all accurate. Pretty sure in the ‘20s they still wore thigh-highs (sort of) that you had to hold up with straps. My shoes are okay, they’re character shoes from a musical I was in, so they’ve got a much thicker heel than most modern heels do. The shape of the heel isn’t quite right but like... I don’t think anyone’s looking THAT closely. (Okay, maybe I am.)

As for hair and makeup, well, my makeup isn’t as dramatic as you might think it should be for the ‘20s. Like I said in the makeup post, I shared that misconception too, up until pretty recently. Most of the standard misconceptions of 1920s fashion I already knew about, because I am. a nerd. But I thought that the makeup was pretty heavy! I re-watched Karolina Żebrowska’s video on the ‘20s and actually paid attention when she talked about the makeup this time. I was kinda relieved when she said that the makeup was much lighter than you’d think, because this outfit would look pretty weird with heavy makeup, since it’s a casual/unfashionable day look. I didn’t do any particular research other than glancing quickly at the examples of “normal” makeup that she showed because I was being lazy. Also, don’t come for my eyebrows. I like them and I refuse to do anything to make them look super-thin.

On to the hair, which is probably the most complicated and most important part! Like I said, I was originally planning to just do a low updo instead of a faux bob. However, when I got the hat and tried it on, I realized that a low updo wouldn’t work with where the hat sat on my head/how it fit me. A faux bob would also mess with the fit, but my hope was that it would be a bit better. I didn’t practice at all before the day of the event, I just kinda decided that It Would Definitely Work. So here’s how I did it:

Pincurl hair the night before

Wear hair down in pincurls the next morning

Humidity deflates curls within an hour, wear hair in improvised updo for rest of day

Try to redo pincurls in the afternoon

Oh shit it’s humid they’re still wet

I don’t own a hair dryer

OH WELL

Take top section of hair, sticking fingers in and parting so that you’re separating out the section in front of the ears

Go up to top of head in inverted V shape, so that a lot of the hair at the back of your head is not in the chunk you’re holding (how much depends on how thick your hair is)

Clip that chunk up; look ridiculous

Braid the hair that’s down--my hair is super thick so it made five braids

You want a LOT of your hair to be in these braids

Pin braids flat to the back of your head--similar to what you do to fit hair under a wig cap

Let down clipped up hair

Sigh over the fact that it’s barely wavy at this point

Make sure side part looks clean

Take back-most chunk of loose hair and grab a decent section, maybe an inch wide?

Grasp one small subsection of the hair in that section

Tease all the hair of the section--you don’t need to go overboard

The one piece you held onto should still be longer and straighter than the rest

Curl that bit around your finger a bit and then pin it up under the braids right at the back

Repeat for all but the two front-most sections of hair on either side of your part

Don’t tease these, just try to make the waves look nice with some subtle pinning and then pin the bottoms up

Oh shit you don’t own hairspray better hope this stays

Shove hat on top, DO NOT take it off for the rest of the night

I had a hilarious conversation about my hair with one of the actors, who was in character as a ~mystical flapper~. It went something like this:

me: Yes, I know it’s all the fashion these days to bob your hair, but I just couldn’t bear to cut it! Really my hair is this [gestures to top of chest] long, but I’ve got it pinned up.

actor, in character as someone in an era where “toxic orange” is not really a feasible hair color: That’s your real hair!?

me, with no hesitation: I’m Irish.

actor:

me:

me: That’s... orange. It’s orange. That’s why.

actor: :O

I then rolled with my ~brilliant improv~ and introduced myself as Bridget Kelley for the rest of the night. To be fair, I am almost certainly related to someone with that exact name.

The other bit of characterization I came up with (which I never really got to do much with) is that Bridget was a serial killer? I have no idea why I decided this, but I actually chose it a couple days ahead of time. I think I just had Chicago on the brain, since it’s set in the ‘20s. I also made her socially awkward but kind of the opposite from me where she was intense/focused/non-fidgety/interested one-on-one and shy as hell in crowds. I’m generally a fan of crowds as long as no one tries to socialize with me, because I can just hang out anonymously. I like being one-on-one or in small groups with people I like, but with random strangers I absolutely hate it.

And that’s basically it! I had a lot of fun at the event and I was really lucky and caught a ride home with an acquaintance I didn’t even know was going to be there. We got “raided by the police” at one point, and I also spent a decent chunk of time in the corner sewing. Good times!

#blog business

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quercussp · 7 years ago

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Let your balalaika sing

Rating: T

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: Dan and Phil go to Russia during the Interactive Introverts tour

Authors note: This story is written for the @phandomficfests tour fest. A huge thanks to my wonderful betas @megiaolf and @terpia, to @templeofshame and to my husband for support and inspiration.

Warnings: mild sexual content, short reference to violence and death, implied/referenced homophobia, mention of anxiety.

[read on ao3]

They arrive in Moscow early in the morning. Well, morning might be the wrong word, according to Dan. 4:30 am shouldn’t be considered morning, it’s practically the middle of the night. But the sky outside of the plane’s small window is lit up by the rising sun, and the city they are descending on is beginning to wake up, with cars that look like small toys driving across tiny ribbons of roads.

Dan considers waking Phil up so he can see the view from the airplane as they are arriving. He looks to his side and finds Phil sound asleep, his head tilted back, mouth open and a tiny bit of saliva trailing down his chin. Dan smiles softly and decides to let him sleep. It’s been a long night and they have a big day ahead of them, and he knows that Phil gets really grumpy when he is sleep deprived.

Just as the plane lands Phil jerks awake, with a confused look on his face.

“Where… we there?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes and feeling for his glasses that are in the seat pocket in front of him.

Dan doesn’t answer. The morning feels thick and heavy, and the air outside seems grey. He can barely make out what the pilot is saying because of his heavy accent, but he is assuming that it’s the standard “welcome and thank you for flying with us” message.

They get out of the plane and walk through the sleepy airport, their bags in hand, towards the passport control stands. Dan leads the way as Phil still looks as though he hasn’t woken up properly yet, and he also tends to get lost even when he is at his sharpest. He knows that Marianne and the rest of the crew are somewhere behind them, but he is too tired to look back and wait for them.

They join a small queue of people standing in front of a passport booth labeled “all visitors”. Everyone around them seems subdued and sleepy. There is a big family standing in the neighboring line, with a crying toddler sitting on a large plastic checkered bag, while the mother is looking through her purse and a person he assumes is the grandmother is speaking very fast on the phone to someone.

It takes them about twenty minutes to get to the border agent, a tired looking young woman, who asks them the goal of their visit in a sleepy voice.

“We are doing a show here” answers Dan, but for some reason it comes out as a question. The woman in the booth flips and stamps their passports with a bored look on her face and hands them back to Dan.

It takes them another 30 minutes to get all of their luggage and reunite with their crew. All Dan can think of is coffee, and he can see that Phil is practically falling asleep on his feet.

Their entire party walks through the green corridor into the arrivals zone, where a small group of people are gathered around, waiting for other people. Marianne leads the whole group to a tall bald man holding a sheet of paper with Marianne’s last name on it.

“I’m Konstanstin. You can call me Kostya. Welcome to Moscow!” the man introduces himself. He has an accent and his voice is a bit croaky, but his eyes are twinkling and his hand feels warm and strong when Dan shakes it.

“You ready? Let’s go” says Kostya, leading them out of the airport to a road where dozens of taxis are waiting around, with drivers shouting “Taxi! Taxi!” at them.

Kostya has arranged a couple cars to come pick them up. He helps them arrange their luggage, and then gets behind the wheel of one of them. Marianne joins him in the front, while Dan and Phil slide into the back.

They drive out of the airport and onto a highway. Kostya looks around the car a little nervously, perhaps debating whether or not he should start a conversation. But Marianne is already deep in her phone and Phil has fallen asleep, leaning against the window, so instead Kostya turns on the radio and continues driving.

The drive is a long one. There are barely any cars on the road as it’s so early, and Dan spends his time watching the landscape pass out of the window. The radio is playing some kind of pop music in Russian and he doesn’t understand a word they are saying. Dan feels like he is on another planet.

When they decided they wanted to go to Russia for the tour, it was more of a hypothetical idea. They saw multiple people telling them to “come to Russia” on twitter and younow, and they always answered with “we would love to”. Now that they are here, Dan can’t help feel like it might have been a mistake. Perhaps it’s the sleep deprivation, or the leaflet he was given at the embassy back in the UK that recommended them to stay away and wipe all their phones, he feels oddly nervous. Logically, Dan knows that he and Phil were totally safe. They have a guide and everything is arranged for them, they heard multiple people assuring them that everything will be fine, and just in case, they had hired a second bodyguard. But it still feels as though they are entering a world where the rules are different, where they are vulnerable and exposed.

By the time they get to the hotel Dan feels a bit nauseous, and he desperately needs to pee. He pokes Phil to wake him up and they all pile into the lobby of the hotel, dragging their suitcases behind them.

The lobby is posh and dimly lit, with classical music playing quietly in the background. Marianne and Konstantin walk over to check them in, while the rest of the crew sits on the plush couches near the hotel bar.

In a couple of minutes Marianne walks over to them and passes out hotel keys. She also passes Dan an envelope of Russian money she exchanged for them and two sim cards.

“Your plans won’t work here, Kostya got you temporary mobile numbers. You have your spare phones, right?” she asks.

“Yeah, they’re in my bag” Dan answers, while Phil takes the hotel keys from her and starts walking towards the lift.

Their hotel room is on the 9th floor. It has two beds and a walk-in shower, and a great view of the city.

“Is that the Kremlin?” Phil asks, gesturing to a pointy building that could be seen in the distance, towering over all the other structures.

“Isn’t the Kremlin supposed to be red?” replies Dan. “It also isn’t that tall, right? It’s really old. Maybe it’s one of those 7 skyscrapers Andrew was telling us about”. He walks into the bathroom, finally peeing in the toilet, then shedding his wrinkled clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water makes him feel a little more alive and after shaving and brushing his teeth, he almost feels human. He walks into the room, wrapped in a plush white hotel robe, and signals to Phil that the bathroom is free.

While Phil showers, Dan puts the sim cards into two old iPhones they bought for this specific trip. The pamphlet they got from the UK ministry told them to avoid using their phones as a precaution against hackers and to protect their personal information. It also told them to stay away from crowded places, not make eye contact on public transport, avoid showing expensive technology and to not be affectionate to each other in public.

It’s not that Dan and Phil didn’t follow the exact same recommendations when they were in London. They tend to avoid large crowds, partly because of social anxiety, and partly because of the very high risk of being recognized by fans. They also do their best to never engage with anyone while taking the tube or bus, because a tired angry Londoner traveling home from work in an overcrowded train car isn’t someone you really want to be all close up and personal with. They try to not wave their brand new iphone Xs around in crowded spaces, as both are aware that pickpockets are common in London. And they also don’t show affection in front of strangers. For obvious reasons of fearing their audience seeing it, but also because none of them have the energy to deal with people’s reaction to it.

But for some reason, the fact that those things were written out in an official document issued by their government makes Dan really uneasy. It fills him with a nervous energy, the type that makes you tremble and jitter, and makes breathing seem like almost an impossible task.

“Do you want to take a nap?” asks Phil, as he walks out of the shower. His skin is pink from the hot water, and his hair messy and wet, hanging across his face. Dan suddenly has the strongest urge to be as close as possible to him. Perhaps it’s nerves. Or maybe it’s a feeling of doing something illegal. Or just the fact that they haven’t had sex in three days.

Dan walks over to Phil and pulls him into a hug, resting his cheek on Phil’s shoulder.

“Yes,” he mumbles, snuggling deeper into Phil’s neck. “Marianne was thinking of going out to breakfast, but we have a couple hours before that”.

“Just let me put some pajamas on,” murmurs Phil, pulling out of Dan’s embrace. Dan instantly feels cold and jittery again.

They both put on some boxers and settle into one of the soft plush hotel beds.

“Why do hotels always have so many pillows,” grumbles Dan, as he pushes three decorative pillows out of the way and onto the floor in order to reach the four big fluffy white ones.

After a bit of adjusting, they end up spooning with Dan wrapping his arms and one leg around Phil’s body. It’s soothing to feel Phil’s gentle breaths and steady heartbeat, to inhale his familiar scent, just a bit tainted by the smell of the hotel body wash. In about three minutes, Dan is fast asleep.

*** They end up going out for brunch. Konstantin meets them in the lobby, all smiles and cheery greetings, and leads them out into the city. He asks them what would they like to have and unanimously everyone answers coffee.

Kostya leads them to a Starbucks, where they get some lattes and pastries and sit down on a sofa near the window.

For some reason Dan finds it surprising that he is in a Starbucks. He feels stupid to be surprised, as he has never yet been to a city that didn’t have one, but it still feels weird. He points it out to Phil, who chuckles and tells him: “yeah, it’s almost like the people here are just the same as anywhere, and also like overpriced American coffee”.

They finish eating and Kostya takes them to the metro. The city is busy and loud around them, there are people hurrying in every direction, and all of it looks so similar to London.

Kostya helps them pay for metro tickets and leads them through the gates and to the escalator. He is telling them something about how the Moscow Metro is the deepest one and how it was used as a bomb shelter, but Dan is only half listening. Instead he is watching the people passing him on the escalator, some of them grumpy looking and looking down, some talking with their friends in loud voices, some listening to music. No one pays them any attention.

The escalator is really really long. Kostya wasn’t joking when he was talking about how deep they are underground. It takes them a full two or three minutes to get all the way down, and when they do, Dan is immediately struck by the sheer grandeur of the station they are on.

“This is a tube station? It looks like a freaking castle!” Phil exclaims, and silently Dan agrees with him. The whole station is covered in marble and fancy molding, the ceilings are as high as in a cathedral, and the walls between massive arches are covered by mosaics, showing battle scenes, with soldiers brandishing red flags. The station is illuminated by lights that hang from brass chandeliers. If it weren’t for the people running all around them and the signs pointing to different lines, Dan would easily mistake this for a grand hall of some sort. Konstantin leads them through the crowd and towards an arriving train.

After some Russian words Dan can’t understand, he hears the announcer say “the next station is Smolenskaya” in English and the train plunges into the darkness of the tunnel.

It takes them about ten minutes to get to their destination. The train makes several stops and every time Dan is amazed by the architecture of the stations. They all seem different and over the top grand. The people around him seem to care very little about the beauty of the stations, they go on and off the train, some of them carrying coffee cups, others looking at their phones or reading books. They look so very normal, but everyone's advice about being careful keeps him on his toes, and he feels the anxious and uncomfortable feeling returning.

They spend the morning walking around the city center. They visit the Kremlin and Red Square, go to the GUM and some museums. They meet many subscribers, they buy some ice cream, drink some more coffee. The whole day feels so… so un-unusual compared to their other tour stops. Sure, it’s a new city in a new country, but for some reason Dan expected it to be much more different. He keeps noticing similarities to other places he’s visited. The streets are filled with the same stores with the same brands of clothing, fast food restaurants on every block, and Dan has counted that they passed five McDonalds and three Burger Kings just in the morning alone. Perhaps the only difference is that most people speak a different language, but then again just a couple of days ago in Amsterdam they had the same experience.

Throughout the day Dan starts to relax a little. Konstantin leads them around, talking animatedly about the history and architecture and telling silly stories from his life. They go into souvenir shops where Phil annoys the salesperson by asking them to show him the biggest and the most ridiculously expensive matryoshka doll and then buying a super cheap one. They notice that all the souvenir shops sell t-shirts with Putin’s face on them and Marianne jokes that Dan should buy one ironically. Dan laughs and threatens to fire her, but in the end buys a fluffy hat with ears with “Moscow” embroidered on it because why not.

They walk past the Kremlin, talking animatedly to each other and start walking on a wide stone bridge across the Moscow river.

“What’s that?” Phil asks Konstantin, pointing at a heap of flowers lying on the side of the bridge, surrounded by lit candles.

“Oh, that’s where Boris Nemtsov was shot. It’s his memorial,” answers Konstantin without a pause. He continues to talk about how the memorial keeps getting vandalized and how people continue to restore it and bring flowers every day, and then about how in the winter it’s hard to keep the sidewalks clean from snow and moves on to explain that there is an ice rink constructed on the Red Square every winter.

There is a cold feeling in Dan’s chest. He remembers reading about this story in the news, about how a politician who opposed the government was shot in the back right in front of the Kremlin a couple of years ago. He remembers reading about it, but until now he couldn’t picture it. That it happened in the heart of this city. Right where he and his crew are walking around taking pictures. 100 feet away from where he took a selfie with some excited and out of breath fans. Less than 5 minute walk from a Starbucks.

***

They eat dinner at a traditional Russian restaurant and of course Dan spills bright red beet soup all over himself. The food is good, but the jitters are back and he feels exposed and out of place. He sees Phil looking at him every now and then with a concerned expression, but doesn’t say anything.

Later that night, in the hotel, Dan finds himself wide awake even though he is exhausted. Phil is lying next to him, playing some app on his old iphone. He wants to ask Phil if he feels the same way, but can’t find the words. Instead he snuggles into his chest and asks him what they should talk about tomorrow in the intro to the show.

He thinks Phil understands the unspoken question though, because he puts down the phone and combs through Dan’s curls, softly telling him that they should talk about the souvenir shop.

They end up making love, both being quiet and overwhelmed a bit, but overcome with affection and gratitude for each other. It’s the kind of sex that Dan calls “stress sex” in his mind. The type which has the main goal of reminding them that they are here, and that they are together, and that they can overcome anything. He falls asleep with Phil’s dick still inside him, feeling ridiculously small and fragile in Phil’s arms.

***

The next day is busy with setting up the show, sound checking, and then suddenly the meet and greet has started, and they are hugging people and taking photos and smiling. Dan is grateful for all of that, because he knows how to do this. This is his job, it’s what he’s best at. So he smiles and hugs people and takes selfies.

Some of the fans they meet speak very poor English, but they do their best to understand what they have to tell them. For some reason their stories feel particularly important to Dan. Perhaps it’s because every once in a while someone tells them that they have no one to talk to other than the people they’ve met through the phandom. Some tell them that watching their videos made them speak English better. A shy 16 year old mumbles how they inspired her to come out to her parents, and how she is here with her girlfriend. One fan asks them to sign a pride flag and something clenches in Dan’s chest when he does it. He catches Phil’s eye and he sees the same tension that is grasping his heart right now.

The show is as always a success. They laugh and have a blast, and Dan is drenched with sweat by the end of it. The audience gives them a standing ovation and they leave the stage exhausted and worn out, but excited and pumped with adrenaline.

They end up ordering room service to their room. Dan decides to mess up the second bed just in case, to make it seem like someone slept there, but his effort is screwed up by Phil yelling “Dan, babe, could you bring me my contact lense solution please?” from the bathroom at the exact moment as the hotel employee is carting in their dinner. To Dan’s relief, the man doesn’t flinch even a little bit, but politely smiles and tells Dan to enjoy their dinner, shutting the door behind him.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms again. Phil falls asleep first and Dan listens to his steady breathing. For some reason he can’t shake an image from his mind. The grey stone barrier of a bridge, covered in flowers, some dried up, some new, with candles lit all around and a framed photo of a smiling man with a black ribbon wrapped around it.

#phan #phanfiction #my fic #phandomficfest #tour fest

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celestial-skylines · 7 years ago

Text

Everything's Fine. Kevin G. x reader

There is not nearly enough Kevin G. content on this site, so I'm contributing. I hope yall like it.

---

Your heels clacked against the floor behind 3 other pairs.

“y/n!” You heard the clacking stop and you looked up, blown out blonde hair focusing into your vision.

“Yes, Regina? You asked wearily.

“Keep up will you? You look like a lost puppy.” She snapped her fingers a few times for emphasis.

“Right sorry.” you said, rushing up to walk next to Karen. Now the four of you taking up almost the entire hallway like you usually do when Cady was with you.

You approached Ms.Norbury’s classroom and Regina’s halt in steps cued the rest to stop too.

“Okay y/n, this is you. We'll see you at lunch okay?” She gave you a fake smile but then it faded as she looked you up and down. “Oh and don't wear that dress again. It doesn't look good on you.” With a flip of her hair, she turned and walked towards her next class, Gretchen and Karen following behind her.

You looked down at your dress and ran your hands down the front.

“This is my favorite dress though…” you mumbled quietly to yourself, suddenly feeling a hand on your lower back. You straighten up and flinch out of surprise and you hear a voice behind you.

“Don't worry babe, you look pretty smokin in that dress. Might be my favorite one you own.”

Kevin Gnapoor.

You smile at him-a small smile- because you're unsure of what to say.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Although, gotta say I'd rather see you withou-”

“Kevin!” Ms. Norbury spoke from behind the two of you.

He just winked at you as he walked past you, into the classroom.

You clutched the sides of your dress and walked in behind him.

---

A lunch tray hit the table with a slam as Regina sat in front of you.

“I heard you were talking to that gross mathlete earlier.” She stared at you and you felt as if she was burning a hole right through your head.

“No, we've got the same class, he was just trying to flirt with me.” you dismissed, going back to the lunch in front of you, hoping she would drop it.

“Right well, if he bothers you again let me know. I'm sure Gretchen can get some interesting dirt on him.” She turned to Gretchen. “ Can't you Gretchen?”

“Of course Regina.” She nodded her head enthusically.

You wanted to tell her that it was fine. That you didn't need someone hovering you. That maybe you didn't mind Kevin flirting with you so much. But you didn't. Because it was Regina George and god you were your own person but hell were you scared of stepping on her toes.

So you just nodded.

Like always.

---

And so life went on and Kevin started hitting on you more and more after that day. Sometimes it would be things like “Damn girl, you should wear that more often” and you'd just respond with some snarky remark. But sometimes he would just tell you that you looked nice that day. You wondered if maybe it was because he could tell when you weren't feeling it. Because maybe you were upset about something Regina said or something Regina did.

Regina practically ruled your life. And you hated it but you were much too scared of what would happen if you decided to abandon that.

So you continued to go along with it. And as long as you were doing so, that meant any interaction with Kevin had to be limited.

It's not like he made it easy though.

“y/n, babe, lookin pretty fine today,” you stopped in front of Kevin who was walking out of the computer lab as you were passing by, but quickly started to panic when you heard Regina’s voice echo from around the corner of the empty hall “you sure you don't wanna-” you cut him off, pressing a hand to cover his mouth and one on hand on his chest, pushing him back into the lab, shutting the door behind you before Regina saw you two.

“Woah woah woah, y/n, if you wanted to get it on, you could have just told me. I'm always available for you.” Kevin said putting a hand on your waist and looking down at your hand that was still on his chest.

You realized this and quickly stepped back, straightening out your skirt, your face red.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to, I just heard Regina coming and I didn't want to get harassed.”

You looked behind you, towards the door making sure no one was coming.

You didn't see the saddened look Kevin was giving you.

“You're really that scared of her?” he asked. His voice sounding different than when he spoke previously.

You turned to look at him. “Well yeah, isn't everyone?”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Yeah but... aren't you friends? Isn't that like a no harassment zone?”

You let out an amused breath through your nose. “No. I mean sure I've probably got it way better than the rest of the school, but it doesn't mean I'm not affected either. All of the plastics are. We just aren't in her direct line of fire.”

Kevin nodded and raised his eyebrow a little to signal you to keep going.

“For the most part it's safe, I guess. I just can't wear what she tells me not to wear, I can't do what she tells me not to, I can't be friends with anyone she says not to-”

Kevin's started talking before you could finish, his eyebrows furrowed. “Is that why you never wear that one dress you like? And why you ignore me sometimes?”

You fiddled with your hands. “Yeah…”

“‘yeah’ to which one?” he asked.

“Uh, both I guess.I’m sorry about that though, Kev. I just-” you sighed. “If we become friends Regina will make both of our lives hell and I just- I'd rather not have to deal with that, or put you through that.”

Kevin slung an arm over your shoulder. “y/n. You know I am more than willing to mess around with you in secret.” he said, as he motioned his arm out in front of you, as if trying to get you to envision it. “Of course all of those woke hunnies waiting in line to get with yours truly are gonna be so hurt. And you know, I can't hold back my full potential.” he stopped for a second and put his hand on his hip. “But I can make an exception for you.”

You squirmed out of his grasp. “Yeah. Right.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “No no I'm serious though. Like we should totally hang out sometime, not here obviously so you don't get in trouble but like, I dunno, your house my house. What do you say, hmm? Care to learn a little more about Kevin G.? Possibly discover new things?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes at him, even though you knew he was kidding(mostly).

He nudged your arm after you didn't respond for a second. “I dunno Kev. We'll see.” you checked your phone for the time and sighed. “I should go, before I start getting “where are you?” texts”

Kevin nodded and as you were about to leave he spoke up again “I'll be seeing you in calc right?” you nodded with a teeny, small smile and made your way out.

It wasn't until that day that you really realized how much you wanted to be out of Regina’s grasp.

---

The gods looked down upon you with favor. Regina George came walking into the cafeteria in sweatpants on a Thursday. And you stood up to her. And now you felt so…free. You spent all this time listening to every little order and doing things the way Regina told you to, but you were over it. Never again.

---

It was Friday now, and you walked into school in that dress that you missed so much, that you decided you wanted to wear again. You showed up in your dress and marched into Ms.Norbury’s classroom before class started.

“Do you have an open space? I wanna join the mathletes.” You spoke with confidence as you pushed the door open.

Kevin's head shot in your direction and his eyes widened as he broke out a smile.

“Hey my favorite dress!! Regina changed her mind?” He totally discarded your statement and was focused on how pretty you looked. All happy and glowy.

You shook your head.“Regina doesn't tell me what to do anymore.”

He smiled at you and was about to open his mouth to say something before Tyler cut him off and started talking instead. “So, back to the topic at hand here. You wanna join the Mathletes???”

You looked towards him and smiled. “Yeah! I mean, I'm pretty good at math if I do say so myself and I feel like this might be a better way to occupy my time, than what I was doing before (basically being on call for regina and hanging out with her all the time).”

“Isn't it like…”social suicide” or whatever?” Now it was Marwan who spoke.

“Honestly, I don't really care anymore. Not about dumb stuff like that.” you scratched your arm out of nervousness (me? Self projecting again????? never.)

“Well I dunno.” Kevin said from his spot on his desk. “Us mathletes have some pretty high standards boo. Especially me tho.” He looked at you with a straight serious face despite having just called you boo a second ago.

You stared back at him, feeling somewhat intimidated by the way he was looking at you. That is, until he started laughing.

“Nah, I'm just kidding, comere.” he patted the spot next to him on top of his desk.

You walked over, and sat next to him on his desk.

“GPA?” he asked.

“4.0”

“Calc grade?”

“A+”

“Hmmmmmm” he put his finger to his chin dramatically pretending to think. “What do you think boys? All in favor of having this lovely lady on our team?” he asked them, gesturing to you.

They both nodded and so you were then appointed the newest member of the mathletes. Kevin wrapped an arm around your shoulders as Ms.Norbury started talking about how you being on the team would be refreshing, and you didn't shove him off this time. You kinda just sat there, leaning into him a little. Comfortable.

“Kev,” you spoke up and he looked down at you next to him. “What up sweetheart?”

“I think I'd like to take you up on your offer to hang out.” his eyes brightened at your words

“You finally wanna bang Kevin G.!!!???”

You laughed at him and smacked his arm lightly.

“No, but judging by the overwhelming excitement in your voice, it sounds like you're, the one who wants to bang me.”

He shrugged off your comment, and tightened his arm around your shoulders.

“It's okay, I know you're just embarrassed to admit that you're scared you can't handle all this.” he gestured to…well, all of him.

“Right.That's it.” you shook your head.

---

“Y/nnnnnnnnn” Kevin stretched out your name as he snapped his fingers in front of your face, shaking you out of your daze.

You blinked “Sorry Kev, what?”

“Are you okay?” he asked raising a suspicious eyebrow at you.

Are you okay? Are you okay???

Of course you're not okay!

Too many things were happening.

You were accused of writing the burn book with the rest of the plastics (beside Regina obvi) even though you NEVER wrote in that mean book.

The great fall of Regina George occured. And she got...hit by a bus.

Cady joined the Mathletes after fessing up about the burn book.

The Mathletes state champion finals were in 2 weeks.

AND you cannot for the life of you, get Kevin Gnapoor out of your head.

See, since you've joined the mathletes, you and Kevin started hanging out a lot more. Not just bc of mathlete meetings and practices but also outside of that when you guys would actually go out and do things or have your own practices. And due to this, you may or may not have developed a huge crush on him? And have a hard time not getting distracted.

Like right now for example.

The two of you were practicing for the finals but you started spacing out and totally got caught.

“Yeah!” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “I'm okay, sorry Kev. Just a bit distracted is all, it's fine.”

“Distracted by the wonder that is Kevin G.? Can't blame you, beautiful, but seriously, finals are in 2 weeks. I know it's really hard, but if you could try to keep your mind off of me and more on these equations, that would be great.” Kevin said as he tapped the text book with his pencil.

“tch, easier said than done…” you mumbled under your breath and prayed he didn't hear you.

“what was that?” he asked, looking amused.

“Nothing! I didn't say anything!” you lied but your face turned super red, kind of giving it away.

“Yeah okay, very convincing.” he moved closer to where you were sitting on your bed, moving some books out of the way.

You shifted in your spot and started anxiously fiddling with your fingers. “Kev.”

He was scanning over equations but looked up at you with curious brown eyes when he heard you call him. “hmm?”

“I uh-” should you be doing this? You haven't really thought about this enough. Oh well, I guess we're doing this. “I really like you.” you whispered out, halfheartedly hoping he wouldn't hear you and you could move on to more equations.

But he did. And he let go of the textbook in his lap and moved it aside, taking your hands in his.

“I really like you too y/n.” Your eyes widened a little and you were trying hard to find any type of reassurance in his eyes that he was serious.

“I'm not kidding Kevin.” you said, scared this was a big joke even though your gut was screaming at you that he'd never actually do that to you.

“Neither am I.” he squeezed your hands, and when your eyes flickered to his face, he gave you an honest smile.

You smiled back at him tested the waters by leaning in. He did the same and in half a second his lips were pressed against yours.

It was a soft sweet kiss but as seconds passed it was becoming deeper. You let go of his hands and were about to snake an arm over his shoulder before he pulled away.

“I uh- sorry. I just-” he took in a deep breath. “Is this okay?” you smiled.

“Yes Kev. This is fine. You're fine.” you reassured him.

“Are you sure? Because I don't want to overstep any boundaries and if you're uncomfortable then-”

“I'm fine Kev. Promise.” you interrupted, taking his face in your hands. “It doesn't sound like you are though.” you gave him a worried, lopsided smile.

“No it's fine. I'm fine. I just- I know I talk a big game, but I've never done this before.” his eyes flicked around the room, trying to look anywhere but you.

“Neither have I though.” you didn't even have to ask him to look at you, because after you said that, his eyes darted to your face so fast.

“Huh?? Yes you have.” he gaped. “You were a plastic, what do you mean you've never done this before??”

You shrugged your shoulders with a small laugh.

“Yeah but I don't like messing around with people's feelings. I take this stuff seriously.”

“That's good to know.” Kevin said, visibly more relaxed than before, your words putting his worries to ease. “Anyways, where were we?” he pulled you closer and his hand rested on your waist.

“Somewhere around here I think.” you leaned in again and pinned your lips back onto his where they were before.

He went from having a hand on your waist to an arm wrapped around your waist and you shifted your arms around his neck as he pulled you closer.

The kiss was deep and nice, not perfect but still nice. And you could tell that he was putting as much passion and happiness into it as you were.

The two of you pulled back for air briefly and Kevin pecked your lips a few more times. You giggled as he did so and after about 5 more kisses, he pulled you into a hug. It was warm and comforting and safe. And you felt like you could stay in his arms like that forever.

Bonus: You scored the winning point at the mathletes final and Kevin was so proud of you and he spun you around and kissed your face over and over and was like !!!I have the best girlfriend!!!???

The mathletes pretended you were gross and annoying but they all think you guys are actually really cute and Marwan and Tyler are really happy to see Kevin so happy.

#kevin gnapoor #kevin g #kevin gnapoor x reader #mean girls #mean girls the musical #mean girls x reader

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pyropsychiccollector · 8 years ago

Note

AU Headcannon: Natsu and Erza try for a baby but can't. Erza goes to a doctor and finds out she's infertile, incapable of having babies. She becomes depressed but Natsu figures out a way to make her happy; they adopt. Instead of picking out one, Erza chooses to adopt all the kids, making their wish come true of having a large and awesome family! :D

Crossover with Danganronpa 2/3… yeah…

ChisaYukizome twitched and forced a brilliant smile onto her face as she regardedher fellow redhead.

“I’m sorry,could you repeat that? I must have misheard you.”

And true toform, Erza Dragneel did not bat an eye as she repeated word for word her“decision”.

“I want all of them.”

Chisa’ssmile dropped completely and she gave off a blank stare. Oh dear. This womanwas clearly delusional. It took all of herwillpower to not go crazy with all these kids every day, and she was trained for this sort of thing!

“Ma’am,”Chisa started slowly. She needed to bring this madwoman back down to earth. “Wecurrently have seventeen children in our care. Seventeen. I don’t think you understand the gravity of howimportant it is to-”

“I KNOWJUST HOW IMPORTANT IT IS TO CARE FOR THEM! I GREW UP IN A GUILD OF ORPHANS!”Erza roared, making the matron flinch. Okay, she definitely had a voice thatcould keep them in line, and maybe the passion, but even so…

“D-Do youeven remember all their names? What each of them likes to do?” Chisa tried adifferent approach, but her eyes became wide as Erza’s eyes sparkled.

“Fuyuhiko-kunis just so adorable! Well, they allare, especially Chiaki-chan, but still! The way he takes charge of theplayground like a yakuza… So cute!And little Mikan-chan is so sweet…”

Chisa’s eyes got wider and wider as Erza wenton and on, listing each and every childand what they apparently liked to do. Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu: Wants to be the head ofa yakuza empire. Chiaki Nanami: Content with playing video games, and beingleft to herself (though she certainly doesn’t mind multiplayer). Mikan Tsumiki:Hated so much to see others get hurt, wanted to be a nurse when she grew up.The “Imposter” (real name unknown): Because he doesn’t know or remember his ownname, he wants to copy others so that he feels like he is somebody. TeruteruHanamura: Developing a talent for cooking, wants to become Fiore’s greatestchef (then aim for the world title). Mahiru Koizumi: Sweet little girl contentwith taking pictures of anything and everything. Peko Pekoyama: Seems right upErza’s ally with her interest in becoming a swordswoman; seems smitten withFuyuhiko. Hiyoko Saionji: Very taken with dancing (and is a bit of a bully tothe other kids, especially Mikan-chan). Ibuki Mioda: Very outgoing, lovesplaying music (eager to learn any instrument). Nekomaru Nidai: Very athletic,but also has a habit of coaching the other kids so they’re in top physicalcondition (most… will pass up on his coaching). Akane Owari: Also veryathletic, but has an appetite to match (interacts with Nidai the most). GundhamTanaka: Very boastful of the animals he’s kept as pets (especially fourhamsters that he calls “the Four Dark Devas”). Nagito Komaeda: One of the oddducks; Lady Luck seems to be very fickle with this boy – it’s almost creepy howlucky or unlucky he can be at any given moment. Kazuichi Soda: Loves tinkeringaround with machines; has a massive crush on the “Princess” of the group. SoniaNevermind: Came from a wealthy family (they fell victim to bandits, and she hasno one left), but she’s come to terms with living at the orphanage with all theother children. Ryota Mitarai: Another reclusive boy; he likes to spend timedrawing and animating. And… Hajime Hinata. Chisa really feels bad for this lastone, because the boy feels so different from everyone else – like a “scrub”, ashe so puts it. If all these other kids can be described as “talented” in someway, then he seems to think himself “untalented”. “Average”. “Worthless”. He wants to be good at something, but hejust hasn’t found his calling yet – or at least, that’s what Chisa has toldhim… over and over and over. At least none of the other kids look down on him;most of Chisa’s time would be devoted to Hajime if that were the case. EvenHiyoko is a little less biting when she bullies Hajime like the other kids. Chisawas surprised Erza remembered Hajime… not because she doubted her fellow redhead,but because Hajime has been at the orphanage longer than the other kids, ifonly by a year. He’s so overlooked by potential parents, and it greatly saddensChisa.

“O-Okay… soyou know them.” Chisa sounded dazed as she acknowledged that she was wrong.Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Dragneel had been stopping by the past few days, but to hearsomeone else know all her kids tosome degree… it was… Chisa honestly didn’t know how to feel about that. Alittle wary? Glad? Nervous? “I still don’t think you’d be able to give allseventeen of them the love they need… B-B-But if you want a trial run with themor something, b-by all means! Please! Let’s just get this pesky paperwork outof the way!”

Apparently, Dragneel didn’t like her parenting skills being scrutinized. Well, it washer loss if she went insane. … Just kidding. Chisa would feel terrible forevery neglected child that would have to return to the orphanage until theDragneels could manage.

Wouldn’tChisa be surprised when not a single child returned? Not even that odd duckNagito.

~*~

“The fuck?!No one said we had to drink any milk!”Fuyuhiko raged with a reddened face.

As he andErza proceeded to get into a screaming match, Natsu leaned over to his fellowpink-head. They had to set up two tables to accommodate all nineteen of them,plus Happy, but they made it work… somehow…

“What’s upwith him?”

Sodascratched his cheek sheepishly.

“Peko orHajime might be able to tell you for sure, but I think he’s got an allergy orsomethin’. Lactose intolerant, I think?”

Natsu madean ‘O’ face at this information. He should probably tell Erza, but they werecurrently on opposite sides of the tables… For his own good, he shouldn’t yellacross the table and incur Erza’s wrath about his own table manners.

Aw hell,what did he care about manners?

“ERZA! FUYU’SLACTOSE ‘N SOMETHIN’!”

Thistriggered a shouting match between husband and wife, as Natsu had to pass alongSoda’s message accurately, and Erza scolded Natsu on his lack of manners. Mostof the kids ignored this over their own chatter; it wasn’t any louder thanAkane or Nekomaru’s verbal exclamations about the exercises they’d be doingafter dinner (even with Akane’s face stuffed), and with the adults occupied,the kids were free to ‘socialize’ as they pleased. Like Hiyoko picking on Mikan(Mahiru tried to get her to let up), Nagito getting on Fuyuhiko’s nerves (ittook all of Peko’s willpower not to smack him with her bamboo sword), Ibukitrying to get the “quiet ones” (the Imposter, Ryota, Hajime, and Chiaki) to bemore open and talkative, and Sonia apparently found Gundham feeding hishamsters “adorable” (which drew in a jealous Soda, who immediately beganslinging insults at Gundham and trying to pick a fight with him).

“Hey Soniaaa!”It was all fun and games until Teruteru opened his perverted mouth. Withinearshot of Erza. “Some nasty poison caused my… little wiener to inflame, and it’s very troublesome… So I’d be verythankful if you sucked out the poison with your mouth~~”

Of course thepoor aspiring chef was then dragged off by their new mother, who was nowred-faced and just a teensy bit shifty-eyed. Boys just entering their teensshould not be perverts yet! … But what does Erza care about Pervertedness? It’snot like she’s got a collection of erotica to share with her new ‘problem child’…or anything…

For someunknown reason, Hiyoko, Ibuki, and Mahiru felt goosebumps go up their backs. Theyhad this odd premonition that one of their parents was going to be an enablerto that dirty rotten pervert…

~*~

“So, mortal… whose master are you?” Gundhamasked Natsu, when they were alone with Happy. The dark-haired boy pausedbriefly before gesturing one bandage-wrapped hand at the Exceed. “… Aside fromthis magnificent specimen here.”

“Eh?” Natsusquinted at the boy.

“Whichtribe did you make a pact with? Answer me!” The boy pulled down his purplescarf to fix the Dragon Slayer with an intense stare… and the Pyro wasn’t anyless confused.

“’Pact’?”

“Answer menow! Though I shall cast you into a watery grave once you do!” Okay, nowGundham was just sounding bratty.

Natsusquinted at the boy once again. Even by Fairy Tail’s standards, this guy was…eccentric. Happy seemed to understand, though… somehow.

“I bet he’saskin’ if you’ve ever raised a pet, Natsu!” He rubbed the back of his head asGundham’s intense gaze fell on him. Natsu made an ‘O’ face.

“Well, Ihaven’t raised any pets… Happy’s Kin.” Natsu sweatdropped as Gundham seemeddissatisfied with this answer. “… Oh! And Kemo-Kemo lived with us for a bit! Hewas green, and furry, and could breathe fire!But he wasn’t a pet, ‘cause he was Kin, like Happy.”

Gundham’seyes seemed to bulge as Natsu described Kemo-Kemo. Never before had he heard ofsuch a creature… and this mortal had made a pact with it?! And this blue catcould fly… truly, his new father figure was a force to be reckoned with!

“I-Itappears I underestimated you… to have raised such a pair of specimens…! I haveno way to gauge your Magic Essence! You may very well rival the great andpowerful Gundham Tanaka, SupremeOverlord of Ice!” Gundham posed dramatically and cackled gleefully.

Happywatched the hamsters emerge from Gundham’s scarf.

“Do thoselittle guys live in there…?” The Exceed asked cutely.

Gundhamcrossed his arms proudly.

“Tamingevil by using myself as a bed… Truly, this is the secret art of the TanakaEmpire!” He then paused again and nodded sagely. “One of my Four Dark Devas ofDestruction, Mirage Golden Hawk Jum-P, has this to say: ‘We’re not used togoing easy on our enemies…so don’t make us angry. You wouldn’t like us when we’reangry.’ FUAHAHAHA!”

Natsu andHappy stared dumbfounded at the aspiring breeder. They hadn’t heard thehamsters say anything, but the boy apparently did.

“Yourhamsters can talk?!” They chorused.

Gundhamsmirked and chuckled. Oh yes. With a family that respected him like this, hewould make a fine roost here! He could not wait to tame the woodland creaturesand make them staunch allies!

"Oh yeah.... Natsu was raised by a dragon! Thought you might find that cool."

Gundham stared speechless at the flying blue cat. He had found quite the fascinating home indeed.....

~*~

For thefirst few weeks, the Dragneel family home had to be renovated heavily to accommodatenineteen (eccentric) people. Unfortunately, it was a bit unreasonable to builda house that had nearly twenty separate bedrooms, so the kids were separatedinto rooms by gender, and given simple cots until they all raised enough moneyto upgrade living arrangements. None of the kids wanted Natsu, Erza, and Happyto break their backs to make sure they were all fed and cared for, so theyopted to help out around the Guild, and Magnolia in general for some. Chiakiand Sonia helped to serve tables in the Guildhall, while Teruteru helped Miraout in the kitchen; Elfman got some extra hands in bringing stuff out of thestorage room (Akane and Nekomaru); the Imposter was able to pull off convincing“Transformations” without the use of Magic, so he taught those the ‘tools’ ofhis trade; Mahiru didn’t want to intrude on poor Reedus’s turf, so she offeredto take photos around town; Fuyuhiko felt out of place in the Guildhall, so hetook to the streets and started cracking down on the “rival gangs” and bringingthem under his control (Erza thought it was a bit dangerous for him to handle,but the boy was an aspiring yakuza; and he had Peko to back him up, so Magnoliawas steadily becoming an even safer place to live); Ibuki and Hiyoko offered toperform shows for both the Guild and Magnolia in general; Mikan wanted to helpout in the infirmary, so for the time being she was learning under Porlyusica;Gundham grudgingly accepted the suggestion of taming wild animals and sellingthem to townspeople; Soda, aspiring mechanic that he was, offered to do oddjobsaround town and study under some mechanics; Ryota was working on honing histalent for animation, and he was getting some drawing tips from Reedus; Nagitowas a bit harder to pin down for a ‘job’, but Makarov gleefully had the boyentering all sorts of lotteries to earn money for the Guild (his bad luck wasannoying, but the good luck made it so worth it…); and Hajime… well…

Hajime hada whole new world to explore with Fairy Tail. He usually helped out withwaiting on tables with Chiaki and Sonia, but he was also associating with manyof the Guildmates in an attempt to find his calling. He hadn’t found it yet,but he wasn’t going to give up. As one of the sons of Natsu and Erza Dragneel, thatwas one lesson drilled into his head fairly early on. Never give up. The futurehad endless possibilities~.

~*~

Note: I might continue this AU… The crossover’s a bit of a stretch in some places, like with Chiaki’s video-gaming and Ryota’s animation talent, but…. it’s fun~. I know I didn’t get into Erza’s infertility, but I wanted to get to these crazy kids. Phwwwh. They’d get along with the Fairy Tail cast… somewhat…. *giving Hiyoko the stinkeye* Hope you enjoyed this a little!

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oliverwvvd · 8 years ago

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something brewing: part i

The moral of this story is that I need to not do the stupid thing and accidentally press save draft instead of queue, since this was supposed to be posted at least a week ago. Oops. Anyway, this is part I of the previously discussed barista au, because I toyed with the idea for a while and it stuck around. Yes, I recognise the title is a horrible pun, but I couldn’t resist. I hope that everyone who liked the idea of this isn’t disappointed.

Premise: Oliver is a sports science student who has to maintain his grades in order to retain his scholarship and has a good chance of playing football professionally. Despite that, he’s serious about wanting to do well. His flatmates spend more time drunk than they do sober, so he’s given up trying to work at home and finds a little coffee shop to study in. What he doesn’t expect is to develop a painful, near-instantaneous, utterly inconvenient crush on one of the baristas.

i: marcus.

It was just past 5pm, and Marcus was comfortably settled into work for the evening. There was a lazy hum of guitar as his background noise of preference, the coffee shop wasn’t too crowded and that gave him time to open his textbook underneath the counter in between making drinks while Susan handled the customers and sorted out any food orders. The page was marked with the casual ease of someone who was used to reading in what spare moments he had, and ain’t that the truth? Honestly, he had trouble absorbing it all at once, so taking information in bit by bit while he did other tasks always worked far better for him, letting him actually retain it instead of forgetting it immediately after reading.

While he turned the pages, humming softly under his breath, dark hair clustered at his temples in slight, tousled waves made worse by the steam from the coffee machine. The scent of freshly ground coffee filled his nose, underscored by the lesser hints of different types of tea, and you’d think he’d be sick of it by now, but the fact was he found it comforting. It smoothed out all the rough edges of his day and helped him to concentrate.

Leaning across, Susan stuck a receipt in front of him. “Large latte with an extra shot for the tall drink of water down at the end there.” There was a mischievous note to her voice that he’d heard before, usually when a customer was particularly easy on the eyes, and he shot her a look back as he got down to making the drink, a grudging half-smile playing about his lips. She mouthed, “Eleven out of ten,” at him, her petite frame safely hiding her behind the coffee machine, and he lifted an eyebrow, because only once in a blue moon did Susan make that sort of assessment. Working in a coffee shop this close to the university, they both got to see a lot of different people walk in and out when they were on shift. One thing he had learned, however, was that he and his fellow barista had different ideas of what was visually appealing. Maybe it’s because she’s an art student, they find the weirdest things interesting. In Susan’s case, that often extended to people, too.

The latte was done in a matter of moments, his hands moving in a familiar rhythm that was as old as time itself to him now. Flicking a quick glance to the receipt to get the name, he walked down to the end and asked, “Large latte with an extra shot for Oliver?” before sliding the drink across the counter, a slight curve of his mouth because customer service meant you were supposed to smile and be courteous. Since he’d never really mastered smiling on command because other people thought he should, this was the nearest thing that he could manage.

When he glanced up to identify the customer, though, he didn’t expect to find someone looking directly back at him, and he certainly didn’t expect to recognise the face, even dimly. Oh. It took effort not to do a double-take, because he knew he’d seen this one around somewhere and couldn’t quite place where. But everything else apart, Susan had, for once, been exactly right. High cheekbones, gloriously messy brown hair, and as he took the drink, a warm, seemingly shy smile that didn’t match with the slight cheekiness of the friendly wink he paired with it. “Thanks,” he said, and as he walked away, Marcus got a wonderfully prolonged look at exactly how long his legs were. It took actual concentration not to let his eyes wander further. Not at work. He ignored Susan, who was trying not to laugh and failing, and instead opened his textbook again.

“Well. If he meets even your impossibly high standards…” Thankfully, her voice is naturally low-pitched anyway and the boy, Oliver, had long since vacated the immediate area for a table over in the far corner, or he might actually have stepped on her foot to silence her.

“Don’t start, Susan,” Marcus warned, attention momentarily drawn from the pages in front of him, a loose scattering of diagrams and pencils notations visible. “I’ve got to get this stuff into my head before the next class if it kills me. I don’t need distractions.”

He felt rather than saw her pout. “Well, if you don’t feel like being distracted, mind if I do? Honestly, he’d make a wonderful model, I might see if I can convince him to sit for me.”

With an impatient gesture that said be my guest quite clearly, Marcus went back to his book while Susan wandered out onto the main floor of the coffee shop. Ostensibly, she’d gone to clean up, but the odds were good that she’d find an excuse to be distracted, as she put it, while she was there.

ii: oliver.

Oliver was absolutely knackered. So knackered, in fact, that the only thing stopping him from going back to his flat and murdering his flatmate in cold blood, or falling asleep in the chair he’d just sat down in was the steaming cup of coffee in his hands. When he took the first sip, his eyes actually closed for a moment because thank Christ, caffeine. On the second sip, the warmth seeped through him and took away the fact that it was freezing outside. On the third, he was recovered enough to sneak another glance up at the counter and the dark head of hair tilted downwards over what looked like a book. They’d barely exchanged words, really, but Oliver knew himself, enough to know that he definitely liked what he’d seen when the barista had handed him his coffee. Sharp jawline, faint hint of dark stubble that managed to be attractive without being scruffy, broad shoulders clad in a long-sleeved navy-blue shirt rolled back at the elbows, and that maddening hint of a smile. Another sip of the coffee, and it was enough for him to tell that it was good, definitely good enough to keep him coming back. The odds were that he was going to be spending a lot of time here, and the reason why could be summed up very succinctly. “Drunken bastards,” he muttered under his breath, opening his backpack and pulling out his notes, wincing at the state of his handwriting. Right. Best neaten these up.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Startled, Oliver looked up, not realising that his commentary had been quite so audible. However, when he realised it was the redheaded girl from behind the counter, he relaxed. “She’d wash my mouth out if she heard me,” he said, amused. “Because like every mother, she’s convinced that I’m still five and won’t believe it until I prove otherwise. That was relatively mild.”

“Aye, I figured, you being very obviously from Glasgow and all.” The impish grin that accompanied the girl’s words left him confused, until she introduced herself. “I’m Susan. Barista by whatever hours I’m designated to work, art student by trade who couldn’t help but notice you’ve been gifted with the kind of bone structure that begs to be drawn.”

The words flustered him, left him wondering how the hell to answer, so he settled on an easy smile and deflection. “Honestly, I think your counterpart might be the better candidate for that,” he said, nodding in the direction of the other barista. When he caught the playful gleam in Susan’s eyes, he kicked himself. Why do I talk? “But I’m never opposed to a new friend. I’m Oliver,” he said, offering his hand outwards. “Which you know, because I gave you my name about five minutes ago when I ordered,” he added, cringing slightly at himself. And this is why I shouldn’t try to be social when I’m tired. “Sorry, bit braindead, the coffee was necessary.”

When Susan laughed and shook his hand, he couldn’t help but be a bit relieved. Usually, he had no problem navigating new interactions, but right now he was operating on far less sleep than he actually required. When her expression took a turn for the mischievous, Oliver became sharply aware that he’d probably said something he shouldn’t have. “He’s so used to me drawing him in between taking orders at this point that he’d probably be thankful for me practicing on someone else,” she said with a theatrical sigh. “And honestly, can you blame me?”

Watching the dark-haired barista move with the kind of controlled grace that made him look almost alien when placed behind somewhere as commonplace as a coffee shop counter, Oliver couldn’t argue with her and therefore, he didn’t. Instead, he spent a few seconds mulling over the boy, wondering what his name might be and why he felt like he’d seen him before. Probably around the university or something. Fortunately, he didn’t have to answer because she switched subjects a moment later. “So what brings you to our little hole around the corner from the campus? Besides the coffee, of course. I’m guessing you weren’t cursing just now for effect.”

Oliver sighed. “I ended up with an absolute dobber for a flatmate this year. Spends more time drunk than sober, and doesn’t know when to shut it. I like a drink now and then, but not when it means I can’t get any sleep because the eejit and his mates won’t shut it at four in the morning.” He rolled his eyes, pointed at the cup. “Hence the extra shot. Eight o’clock football practice this morning, class in the afternoon and I’m done for, and still got to do some work.”

The wince of sympathy was gratifying, as were Susan’s next words. “Well, that definitely explains the swear words. Should I get our resident coffee genius to make it stronger next time?”

Oliver didn’t even pause in response. “God, yes. If he can possibly add any more caffeine without giving me the shakes or making me ill, yes.”

“He can make anything that involves coffee and tea taste palatable, it’s a gift. Do you trust me?”

“I’ve just met you.”

“I’m a barista. Trust me. Give him free rein on what he makes you next.”

Oliver was too tired to make sense of the conversation, even after the first (excellent) cup of coffee, and his notes were swimming in front of his eyes anyway. “All right. Tell him that if he can make me something that’ll keep me on my feet for the rest of the evening and tastes as good as the first one did, he’s got a guaranteed customer for life.”

iii: marcus.

Marcus was somewhat expecting the cat that’s got the cream smile on Susan’s face when she practically sashayed back behind the counter. He’d looked up only once, seen that she was talking to the attractive boy from earlier (Oliver, his brain helpfully supplied) and snorted to himself, deciding to leave her to it. If there had been a slight pang of disappointment, well, he only had himself to blame, didn’t he? And this, this was why he didn’t do distractions.

“Hey, hotshot. Pretty boy over there says he’ll drink anything you make so long as it tastes palatable and doesn’t give him the shakes. Up to the challenge?”

So much for no distractions. Of all the things he’d anticipated her saying, that hadn’t been one of them. Against his own will, Marcus found his eyes unwittingly drawn towards the boy, suddenly becoming very aware that he had dark circles beneath his eyes and actually looked outright worn out, the more so as he sifted through what looked like pages of notes spread out on the table in front of him. “Hard partier with a hangover?” he asked, rather hoping that wasn’t the case.

“Footballer with early practices, late afternoon classes and a selfish gobby prick for a housemate who thinks four in the morning is an acceptable time to be pissed as a newt,” Susan amended, only managing to further pique Marcus’ interest, while simultaneously making him wonder how exactly she managed to inveigle information out of people the way she did. “He’s had a long day. Make him something good.”

“Your wish is my command,” Marcus drawled, abandoning his textbook and turning his attention to the coffee machine. “Did you get his number already? I figured it’d take you at least ten minutes to work up to it, and that was barely five.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susan unsuccessfully attempt to hide a smile, resolved to get her back for it later. “No, I don’t think I’m his type, though he didn’t seem to have trouble acknowledging that he finds you good-looking.”

Marcus didn’t bother restraining himself; he rolled his eyes at her quite plainly, and chose not to acknowledge the remark. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her raise her hands in surrender. “Just passing it on, even if you don’t believe me.”

“Stop bothering me, woman, if you want me to make the damned drink,” he snapped, not meaning to sound quite as snippy as he did. Thankfully, Susan had known him long enough to know the difference between him wanting to focus and him actually being annoyed, and simply stuck her tongue out at him before heading out to the storeroom to go and obtain more takeaway cups. Left in peace, Marcus spent five minutes concocting something that would tick the boxes specified with the ingredients that he had to hand. The result ended up being a monstrous latte that only just fitted in the largest takeaway cup. It looked relatively ordinary, but he was confident that it would fit the bill. “Order for Oliver?” he called.

And if he wanted to watch the other boy walk towards him, well, he didn’t have to admit it to anyone but himself. Even if his rule was no distractions, he didn’t see any harm in appreciating the view, and there was a lot about the view to appreciate. When Marcus set the takeaway cup down in front of him, there was a shy smile playing about his mouth again and God, he wished he didn’t find it as attractive as he did. When the other went to reach into his pocket, obviously intending to extract his wallet, Marcus shook his head. “Try it first,” he said, leaning elbows against the counter and not quite able to help his curiosity. He didn’t often get to see the first reaction to a new drink, so this was a rare opportunity.

When the other boy inclined his head, raised the cup in his direction and took a long drink from it, Marcus watched his reaction move from neutral to enjoyment with a slight half-smile. He didn’t get the chance to ask the question, because Oliver (don’t pretend like you don’t know his name, Flint) had a much wider smile on his face now before he spoke. “I can taste the caramel, and…apple pie? And at least a double shot in there.” It was less of a guess when he had another long drink, and damn if that response didn’t make Marcus’ day in less than ten seconds. “God, that’s exactly what I needed, and I never would have ordered it on my own. How much do I owe you?”

Marcus shook his head again. “Nothing. You just helped test out a new special for the menu,” he said, wanting to outright grin, not quite comfortable enough to let himself do it. Finding the other attractive was one thing, but actually doing something about it was another. Probably has someone, anyhow. The fact that he was even considering the matter was more than he wanted to think about, shoved it away with a nod of his head as Susan emerged from the storeroom. “Get that down your neck, you’ll feel better,” he said, before disappearing into the storeroom himself, under the pretext of checking whether or not they’d received the new blend that was supposed to be arriving. They hadn’t, but he found a mess, like he always did. With a faintly exasperated sigh, he started to tidy up, ignoring the fact that he’d just bolted in the opposite direction to the first person he’d genuinely been attracted to in almost a year. Well, I always did have a knack for self-sabotage. Or maybe I just don’t want to waste my attention on a lost cause.

iv: oliver.

Oliver had been coming to the coffee shop for a few weeks at this point, for a multitude of reasons; the first being that waking up with a hot drink in his hand before his first tutorial or before practice was infinitely preferable to staying at his flat. The second being that his flatmate hadn’t proven to be any less of an idiot as time had progressed, and while the atmosphere between them wasn’t hostile as such, it might easily go in that direction if Oliver was around the flat more often. The final reason, and the one that he was all too aware of, was the fact that the coffee shop came with the added bonus of the dark-haired barista, whose name he’d discovered only four days prior. Susan had called back to what was presumably the storeroom while Oliver had been waiting for his usual morning order (a flat white). “Marcus, are you done in there yet?” For reasons he couldn’t understand, everything seemed to click into place at that point. The name was fitting, but that was also the point where he couldn’t entirely ignore the fact that not only had he liked what he saw when he first laid eyes on the other; he’d liked it enough for the interest to continue past the initial meeting.

So the combination of irritating flatmate, burgeoning caffeine addiction, and a need to work undisturbed also happened to coincide with the fact that he was developing a small, inconvenient crush on the barista, on Marcus. They hadn’t exchanged words much, nothing more than polite conversation really, but in that time, a comfortable routine had developed. In the mornings, Oliver had his flat white. In the afternoons and evenings, Marcus often had free rein on what to make for him, and he’d never yet gotten it wrong. With a glance, dark eyes seemed able to assess what kind of day he’d had and make the drink that fitted the bill. Susan hadn’t been wrong: the other had a gift for it.

It was late one evening when Oliver approached the counter with a textbook in hand, around 8pm, and was met with the half-smile that never quite made it to something more. It held mystery, that look, and he’d rapidly learned that he didn’t mind a little mystery. “Same again?” The question, ready when he reached the counter, made him smile ruefully. “Yeah, please. This thing’s making life difficult for me.” He raised his textbook, an analysis of sport psychology that was interesting enough, but not easy to translate to the project that his professor had given him. If he hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have seen the flicker of surprise, however slight, that crossed Marcus’ expression when he saw the textbook. That was nothing, however, to Oliver’s reaction when the barista responded, “Yeah, that one’s not fun. Been having a bit of a wrangle with it too.”

It took a few seconds for Oliver to click. Really? So maybe that’s where I recognised you from, even if dimly. “I didn’t realise you were in there too,” he said with a smile. “How come I’ve never seen you?”

“It’s a big lecture theatre. I sit up at the back and the lecturer’s usually turned the lights down for the projectors by the time I get there. I didn’t know you were in there either, to be fair.” That was when the usual half-smile that he’d become strangely used to widened, and oh, Oliver wasn’t prepared for that, because if the effect of the half-smile was bad, the full smile was absolutely devastating by comparison. He was sure that he was staring like a fool, and he didn’t have the will to sort it out. Pull yourself together.

“I’m aiming for physiotherapist eventually,” Marcus continued, seemingly not registering Oliver’s reaction. “But I’ve not seen you in any of my other classes, which are somewhat smaller, so I’m guessing you’re taking a slightly different direction.”

It took Oliver a few seconds to form a coherent sentence, and under other circumstances, he would have been really bloody well embarrassed about that, but Christ, he’s only human and that smile was like attacking the unarmed. “Yeah, I…I’ve been scouted for football, so most of what I’m doing is geared towards being able to coach and help other athletes if that doesn’t pan out,” he said. Though he knew that he was good at what he did, he wasn’t naturally a braggart. He felt the weight of Marcus’ scrutiny when the other looked at him more closely, and Jesus, he did the exact opposite of handling it well when the appraisal seemed to run past his face to the spread of his shoulders. Don’t blush, for the love of God.

“What position?”

The question caught Oliver off-guard, because his mind immediately went to places that it quite definitely wasn’t supposed to go while he was in public (I can think of lots of those), and the dark-haired barista (and incipient physiotherapist, apparently) could have easily chosen a better way of wording that. Was that deliberate? He couldn’t tell. Marcus’ expression was unreadable besides the smile and the tilted head. It was impossible to work out whether the other had spotted his preoccupation and decided to mess with him. If he did, game on. “Any number of positions, really, but I’m currently playing keeper,” he said, opting to accompany the words with a grin of his own, daring to put just a little flirtation behind the remark. When he heard a slight spluttering sound from further down the counter, he didn’t need to look to know that Susan had caught the gist of what he was implying, and he cringed because he’d honestly forgotten she was there at all. However, it was Marcus that sent her on the retreat with a truly impressive glare that made her disappear back into the stockroom, while Oliver wished for the ground to swallow him up as promptly as possible.

“I play striker, sometimes.” The conversation had turned back to football, and Oliver was thankful for it. Plays and strategies, he could discuss until light turned to dark, even if he was meant to be wrangling his way through the textbook still in his hands. Apparently Marcus’ attention span was much better than his, because in the time that they’d been talking, he’d still managed to make Oliver’s drink and mark the current page in his own textbook, tucked covertly beneath the counter as it generally was. To Oliver’s surprise, he smiled again, but this time there was an obvious edge of embarrassment to it. “Just realised I’m being a bit of an idiot, by the way. I’m Marcus; don’t recall ever telling you that.” When he came out from behind the counter, Oliver then got his first good look, up close, at exactly how the other dressed. A faded band t-shirt and a pair of dark, rumpled jeans that clung to all the right places. When the other offered his hand out awkwardly and Oliver closed fingers around his for the handshake, he grinned again. “Good to meet you properly. I’ll see you in our lecture, I guess. I’d better get back to work.” When he met the other’s eyes as they released grip, however, the brush of their fingers lingered and he wasn’t immune to the spark of that touch, far from it. Whoa. The other didn’t need to know that he’d already been fully aware of his name before now. “Yeah, you too. See you later.” And with that, they parted ways, Marcus back behind the counter, Oliver returning to his usual seat with coffee in one hand, textbook in the other, and quite probably a really stupid smile on his face like he’d just been hit between the eyes.

What Marcus also didn’t need to know was that his small, ridiculous crush had gone from mildly out of hand to completely insane in the span of about ten minutes, if that.

This is really not a good thing. What am I going to do about this?

#flintwood #flintwoodnet #something brewing #coffee shop au #ol writes things

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